Cold Inside
by Insanity Engine
Summary: He drowned the sorrows of his forgotten people in drunk inducing liquid nitrogen, while she stole the bodies of living, sentient creatures in order to live in a world that hurt her very essence. Their paths intertwined and they found themselves closer than they would have liked. A roleplay.
1. Part 1

Another RP between me and my friend PhazonFlood. The full, unparted version can be found here: /d5aemt1

His character, Skry, meets mine, Skasheel, and everything under the sun happens between them.

Enjoy. 3

* * *

Skry was in a good mood. It wasn't rare, but this time he knew it was likely due to the nitrogen in his bloodstream. Had he had too much already? He didn't care. For some reason he felt like getting a little more tipsy than he already was. Bad decisions had a way of seducing him these days.

He still had his wits about him, if only for a time before he swigged down another round. In a way Skry was trying to drown out the loneliness, as if that would somehow make company come to him.

How long had it been since he'd since another Klexian? Too long, he realized. Other species held little respite and he could never forge a lasting connection with any of them. Others could do so easily; he could not. He was picky, proud and reserved; his dedication on hold for someone he knew would matter to him. And that individual was proving an elusive myth.

There was no cheap joy to be found tonight. No, tonight was a night to wallow in self-pity and hazed thoughts, complacent and patient, waiting for something, anything, to come to him.

Inside a bar was the last place Skasheel expected to find herself. The raucous, laid back atmosphere was off-putting at best, but the subdued lighting was what brought her there in the first place. She had hoped to find a darkened corner somewhere to sequester herself away in, away from prying, curious eyes, but that was proving a failed cause. The place was thoroughly packed and she found herself shying away from the abundant splash of life.

Her fears were for nothing: no one seemed to care or notice her presence. Hesitantly she let her guard down, though she pulled her meager scrap of clothing closer in what could have been mistaken as a display of fear. Truth be told she always felt anxious around so many individuals. It made her spines twitch and her eyes dart and filled her not with fear, but with indecision.

The corners were full. The tables were full. The only empty seat she could see was at the bar itself, beside a blue coloured alien. Hesitantly, taking the advice of her vessel, she took a seat and quietly ordered an alcoholic beverage of unknown name. But the pirate whose body she resided in seemed content, so she followed suit and tried to feel the same way.

Gingerly she looked around, avoiding eye contact, feeling very much out of her element and wondering why she had come in here, instead of staying out there, in the dark.

Another drink was placed in front of him. Had he ordered it? Skry couldn't remember. The nitrogen boiled inside its durable vessel, remaining liquid only for a short time before it turned to vapor. And vapor was of no comfort, for it was merely filtered.

He groaned. He didn't want to drink anymore, he was starting to feel sick even before he was starting to feel drunk. He stared at it hazily, letting it spoil to vapor around him. It was too late already, he realized. His vision was blurry and he could feel his sense of balance slipping. How the hell was he going to get home like this?

Skry hardly noticed the cloaked figure who took a seat beside him. He laughed good-naturedly, realizing his situation and saying the first thing that came to mind. He turned slightly, his eyes shut and a sly, stupored smile creased across his beak.

"Heh," he stammered. "I think, I may need a ride home."

Surprised, Skasheel turned to the side and stared. The alien was very obviously drunk, his head lolling about on his shoulders like it wasn't attached properly. Skasheel suppressed a hiss and turned her attention back to her drink, eyeing the cubes of frozen water that swilled about in the odd coloured substance.

She didn't trust it, despite her vessel urging her on. It smelled wrong, like poison. And if it had the same effect on her that it did on the alien beside her, then she was having none of it. There seemed no joy in being reduced to a slobbering imbecile who couldn't even speak properly. Disgusted she pushed the glass away and instead watched the Klexian out of the corner of her eye.

Skasheel said nothing. She just watched. Intrigued and faintly amused.

Skry waited for a response. Nothing; the stranger ignored him. But why? He wasn't trying anything funny and he wasn't offering violence, and so he decided the reaction he got was due to this bar-goer's sour nature. Feeling playful and unable to accept being ignored, he tried again. Skry snapped his fingers in front of the hooded figure's face twice and spoke up again. "Hey, what's wrong, don't speak English? Come on, now, help a guy out..." he prattled on. He laughed again, as though amused by his own slurred clicking.

Annoyed she grabbed the Klexian's hand and pushed it away, feeling the deep cold seeping from underneath his exosuit. To say the Ing wasn't intrigued was an understatement: she had never seen a Klexian before, nor had she heard say of the species before now. Something completely new. Something she could learn about, if given the chance. Mayhap a new playtoy.

Ignoring the question, Skasheel leaned forwards, her fingers interlaced and her head leaning on her knuckles, and grinned.

"Just what are you?" she growled lowly, unused to speaking aloud. Maybe she could take advantage of this new being and his… Altered state of mind. Maybe in the near future she could finally be something different for a change. Maybe, if she played her cards right.

"Right now?" Skry paused, chuckling a bit. "Pretttty damn drunk, I'd say."

"Ah, yes, I can see that," Skasheel responded quietly, perplexed. Despite herself, the smallest inklings of a smile were beginning to spread across her face. In a manner only befitting of the closest of friends, Skasheel draped an arm over the drunk alien's shoulder and pulled him in close.

"I'll get you home," she hissed. "Don't worry."

"Eheh, yeah, that's a little close for comfort sweetheart," Skry responded, pushing the stranger's arm off his shoulder. "'Cause, you know, I, just met you..."

He groaned, ran a hand over his forehead and back into his feathers before resting his head on the bar counter. "You know, you're kinda creepy, I'm not sure I want that ride anymore," he said, laughing slurrily. He wasn't sure if it was sarcastic or serious.

"Oh, come now," Skasheel prodded, her voice, though deep and gravelly and with its curious hollow undertones, sounding for all the world like oil and honey. "You're not in the right frame of mind, my dear friend. Please, let me help you."

She proceeded to pull the drunk alien to his feet, putting on the best show of friendliness that she could.

"Please," she said once more, her eyes flashing bright orange. "Let me help."

The stranger looked Skry straight in eye and spoke connivingly. Even in his stupor, Skry could sense a certain deception beneath her hollow voice and it gave him all the more reason not to trust her.

But for all his usual intelligence and good judgement, his thoughts were clouded with nitrogen. Skry's wings drooped and he struggled to find footing. He looked the stranger over and smiled. His only response was inane and barely understandable.

"Damn you're ugly," he slurred. His smile never faltered, and, wobbling slightly, he made his way out of the bar and into the darkened city streets. He found that he still had enough wherewithal to walk.

With burning eyes she watched the Klexian wobble from the bar and out into the streets before putting her head into her hands and sighing. What point was there, really? She was most likely the last of her people and she didn't even know what she was doing anymore. She couldn't leave her vessel without dying and she couldn't just plain be herself. She had to keep herself hidden away behind a stolen face 24/7. Skasheel was even starting to forget what she really looked like and the thought was distressing, to say the least.

With an annoyed growl for thinking such thoughts, she stood abruptly and left the bar, out into the cold dark of this alien world. Immediately she turned right and into a dark alley, where the lights from outside deigned to enter. Here she almost at once felt at home and the tension melted away by small degrees.

Then the anger hit her full force.

Yelling would only draw attention, so she kept it inside. Instead she lashed out angrily at the nearest wall, drawing stolen pirate claws down the tempered steel surface with the sound of grinding metal. The reality of everything came crashing down again, like it did every few weeks or so. Last of her kind. Hostile dimension. Couldn't be herself. She couldn't take it anymore.

She screamed, the dual tones of the pirate's voice and her ethereal vocals intertwining into a spine tingling discordance. She didn't care who heard, she only wanted to be as loud as possible. Maybe then, would these pitiful creatures of the light understand her hatred.

Skry turned around. What the hell was that noise? His curiosity piqued, he walked heavily over into the alley that had been the source of the noise. His wings twitched in confusion as he looked around. He couldn't see anything in this darkness, and even if he could it would most likely be blurred.

"Hello?" He asked, unsure of why he was investigating. He moved ever deeper into the alley.

She turned towards the sound and hissed, retreating further into the oppressive gloom to the point where only the glow of her eyes shone forth. She was having second thoughts, about everything. Possessing the Klexian with his unique biology. She wanted to know and learn and destroy his mind so that his body could be hers. She wanted to warp his carapace into spikes and darken his countenance.

But what point was there when she was the last of her kind. There was none. She just wanted to go home.

"Go away," she hissed, turning away.

Once she spoke Skry realized he recognised the voice. It was the pirate who had tried to help him in the bar.

"What's wrong with you?" he slurred, partly concerned, and partly curious.

"What's wrong with me?" she parroted, spicing her words with hateful bile and spite. "What's wrong with you, you can't even _speak properly."_

Skry groaned, he rolled his eyes and laughed. "Fuck you, I'm drunk."

In return she laughed as well, though with decidedly much more sadism.

"Drunk! Is that what you call it? You look absolutely retarded to me."

Skry sighed, he put a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, probably do," He cocked a fringe and looked slyly at her. "I'll be fine in an hour or... then the headaches come, hehe," he laughed. His head was starting to hurt already.

"God damn, you're so laid back," she snarled, annoyed by his cheery good will in the face of her scathing sarcasm. Without thinking she grabbed him by the neck and pushed him up against the wall, hoping to wipe that goofy grin off his face.

"Stop smiling all the time you're making my head hurt, too."

Skry stopped smiling and shook his head vigorously. "Shit! What is your problem?!" he called out angrily.

His delicate wings were flattened against the hard wall. The pirate had a firm grip on his neck and he struggled to breath. Drunk or not, he didn't like being handled this way by anyone, not to mention a fela. He snarled right back at her and lashed at her arm with his tail. "Get off, freak!"

He had stopped smiling. Good. His optimism had made her feel nauseous. It was unnatural to her and she didn't like it. So when he responded with anger as well she found that she was the one smiling, instead. Regardless of the hateful words he was now slinging at her.

"Now now," she cajoled, caressing his face with a whispy tendril of darkness. Though she could feel the burn from this dimension, she didn't let it bother her, for it was weak at best. "Struggling only makes the possession hurt more."

"Possession? What the hell?" he gave her an expression of laughable disbelief. "And I thought I was the one who was drunk..." he laughed again, a habit that seemed to be getting him into deeper and deeper trouble.

"Get off before you hurt yourself," he retorted, trying to push her away from him with his tail and claws. He wasn't about to let what was happening happen, especially not in this state of mind.

His laughter made her frown in anger and the amusement faded. He didn't believe her. Why would he? She was the last of her people, and even then, when the Ing Horde had been at its prime, the only ones to know of them were the Luminoth and the Space Pirates. The Ing were an unknown race, by and far. Of course this arrogant Klexian would not understand.

Skasheel was getting far too excited for her own good. The prospect of finally having a different vessel than this wretched pirate was invigorating and the burn of the light was no longer a concern. In the darkness, for a moment, she could finally be herself again, and regardless if the Klexian believed her or not, she would have what she had originally set her sights on.

"I'm the mad one, right?" she taunted, the gaseous black mist of herself slowly sinking into the Klexian's cold, cold form. "I hope this is exceedingly painful, you arrogant _twit_."

"What are you doing?!" The Klexian cried, more in confusion than anything else. It was as though molten acid had been poured into his suit and was permeating every chilled muscle in his body. "What... are you doing.. to me," slurred words poured out.

Skry felt the pirate's hold slacken just slightly and he pushed himself away. His mind was beginning to return to him and he trudged away, however unbalanced, as fast as his legs could carry him. His nares twitched violently as he breathed rapidly, icy air fogging before him. He clutched his head, it was pounding. A hangover already? Or something entirely different? He hissed, he hadn't expected such a painful onslaught. Whatever the wretched pirate had done to him, it hurt like hell. "You bitch! What the fuck is this?" he closed his eyes, shaking his head as though to rid himself of the pain.

Skasheel hissed, like she always did. Her prey had pushed her away, broken the connection. Quickly she regained control over the pirate, sinking into his body like black water, before scrambling to her feet.

In the brief moment of connection, she had felt his mind. Hazed by liquid nitrogen and fuzzy, but full of information.

"Your name is Skry," she growled, trying to catch his attention. She felt so weak; failed possession attempts almost always brought with them fatigue. "Your people are scattered across the galaxy. Your home planet is a boiling wasteland. You just want to stop being lonely…"

Exhausted she had a hard time finding her feet and struggled to stand, instead opting to sit on the cold hard ground, breathing heavily.

Skry growled. He reflected briefly on the pirate's words. How had she known all that about him? He realized the creature had attempted some sort of merging with him, and it made him sick to his core. He felt invaded, humiliated. What else had she learned that she was simply not saying? Memories, thoughts, dreams, all manner of private things, had they _all_ been available to _her_?

He turned to the pirate and stared hatefully, a prideful vengeance welling up in his clouded mind. "How dare you.." he sneered. "What, and you think you're going to cure my loneliness by _invading_me?! You sniveling freak!" His back arched, his tail to the air, he let loose a vicious snarl and struck the pirate across her back.

She cried out in pain and collapsed, her exoskeleton cracking loudly against the concrete.

"Cure_ your_loneliness?" she spat, black blood leaking from her mouth. "You act like I actually give a fuck about you."

Unable to move all she could do was lay there and laugh at the idiocy of Skry's statements, amused by how he seemed to think it was all about him.

"Well you cared enough to try to possess me, so really, no, I'm flattered," he hissed.

He paced around her, maintaining an aggressive, almost primal pose. His feathers arched in a frill around his head as he snarled. "You're a parasite, a shapeless, body-stealing _freak_. I'd be a crime to even call you a living thing, you've barely half a life!" The nitrogen had all but left his system, though he still tottered slightly when he walked. He was angry now, pure and simple, and he stared spitefully down at the creature who had so horribly wronged him.

"Oh, stop," Skasheel replied with a twisted grin. "You're making me blush."

Her instincts told her to maim and kill and steal. Her body would not let her. She was far, far too weak after her failed attempt. She was vulnerable, defenseless, and Skry knew it. So all she did was grin, her burning eyes never once leaving his.

"Heh, right, I didn't know those were pick-up lines," he smirked. Seeing the fela bleeding and helpless, it was rather hard to keep up with his angry instincts. Skry's feathers fell back to their flattened state and he relaxed his stance. He spat at the ground near her and turned away, shaking his head. "Don't worry, you're not worth the time it'd take to kill you."

The grin faded as the reality of it all sunk in. Laying helpless was much, much worse than him killing her. She couldn't even move, let alone get up and walk away. Moving even her head to watch him was exhausting; left vulnerable to the night was a fate worse than death.

Panic blossomed in her mind. Though she was a creature that had originated in a completely different dimension she still had a basic need to survive, to live. Cringing in pain she tried to crawl towards him, towards what she viewed as safety.

"No, stop," she whimpered. "Don't leave."

Though she much preferred the darkness, for the first time, the light seemed to hold much more promise. Another grunt, another failed attempt to crawl away from the dark nothingness that would surely take advantage of her vulnerable state. It wasn't sentient life that frightened her, it was the surge of pests that followed in its wake, scrounging for food in the darkness, away from prying eyes. Mindless and ferocious, much like the very people she had come from.

"I'll die by myself."

Skry stopped in his path and cocked his head back to glance at her. Despite her pathetic appearance, after what she had done it was hard to forgive her, and Skry felt no pity whatsoever. The fact that she even expected such a reaction made him sick and angry; she didn't deserve it.

"You'll die, huh," he replied quietly. The sound of ice forming, as a blackened blade coalesced on his right forearm. Skry shot her a sinister smile. "Maybe I should help the process along? This world would be better off without a wretch like you."

"Maybe it will, maybe it won't," she agreed. "I just don't want to die."

It had been the sole reason she had been around for so long, despite the destruction of her home dimension. Death was a very real threat, and it scared her something awful to the point that all her actions were her running from it. She didn't want to face the possibility of not existing anymore; it was far, far too frightening.

"Please just take me with you," she begged. "Don't leave me here. I just- I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

Roles had reversed; and Skry very much doubted that he would have received the mercy the pirate was now so desperately begging for. He snarled, he made his way to her fallen form and grabbed her by the neck. He pushed her back against a lamp-lit wall, her feet dangling beneath her, and put his blade to her throat.

"You're pathetic," he spat. "You attempt to take my body, and now that you've failed you're weak. You're expecting help, after _that_?" His blade drew ever closer and his eyes remained locked onto hers. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slash your stolen throat right here and now."

Skasheel was feeling far too cowardly for her own good, and she hated herself for it. In her natural form she would have slit his throat for saying such travesties. Her? Half a life form? No more than a parasite? He had no idea what he was talking about. If he were forced into a different dimension that he could not survive in, he'd take drastic measures to survive, too.

The Ing method of dealing with her problems by way of brute force and ferocity was out of the question. She was weak now, like him. She was no more than a commoner. She had no great strength or abilities to fall back on anymore, and all she could do was grovel pathetically.

The sleek edge of his scythe-like blade glinted so brilliant in the meager lamp light, and she shivered. Not from his ever present cold, but from fear of death. Her stolen claws scrambled for purchase against his arm but he was far too strong, and she far too weak.

Skasheel knew there was no reason for him to spare her life. Maybe he was right, she realized with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she was nothing more than a parasite.

"I…" she started, finding it hard to speak with his hand so tight around her throat. "I… I have no reason."

The truth hurt.

"I just don't want to die. I'm scared."

"How sad for you..." he slurred simply. He felt no empathy, no reason to see this creature as anything more than she was; a disease, a parasite, something which should be destroyed. Without a second thought he ran the blade clean through her throat, the icy surface melting slightly with the contact of blood.

Though the flesh had never truly been hers, it hurt all the same. Terrified she retracted her presence from the swiftly dying pirate even as she felt it slump the ground, clutching at its throat with its own free will. Away from the pain all she could do was watch futilely as her vessel's life blood slowly drained, its actions becoming less and less frantic. With no more flesh and blood vessel she, too, would surely die given enough time, and the fear of that was enough to drive her from the pirate in a sudden surge of black smoke.

There was no time to think, only to do. Without any hesitation she descended on Skry, not to possess him, but his exosuit. With no mind, no will, there was nothing to fight back. And even in her weakened state she quickly found new residence in the cold wires and steel of his machinery.

Almost immediately Skry's exosuit took on a darker hue, the blues darkening to more insidious purples and blacks. But without her conscious exertion no more of her possession showed save for the colour change. She was too tired to do anything else except become quiet, almost giddy with excitement at her close call with death.

The satisfaction of the kill didn't last long as Skry felt his body wracked with pain. The creature had left its previous host and somehow infiltrated his cybernetics. An integral part of his body, and one he had been with since birth, he felt the take-over as closely as he would had it been his true body. Darkness swirled around him and filled his suit with a eery violet. Skry spat and gagged as a dreadful taste filled his mouth, and his vision became hazed over with a blackened hue.

This was it; a parasite in his suit? Surely now he was resigned to death. One small alteration, to the regulator, the respirator, anything, would leave him vulnerable to the hostile world around him. For his lungs to be scorched with burning air. For his methane-filled blood to boil and turn to vapor within him. Skry pondered for a moment exactly how painful it would be to have every organ within him vaporize; it was enough to make him fall to his knees and writhe in panic.

She was all too aware of the agony she had caused him, though she hadn't expected it by far. The Klexian's exosuit was as much a part of him and just as crucial to his survival as the darkness was to her, it seemed. An interesting if not unforeseen development.

Curious she prodded around at his internal mechanisms, still too out of it to do anything other than watch and observe. Something deep inside his stomach regulated his chilling temperature and the wires that sprouted from it ran to every inch of his body like synthetic roots. She made a mental note not to fool with it; anything more than a look would most likely kill him, and she had no interest in killing her host.

"Stop struggling," Skasheel hissed, speaking through his machinery, directly into his head. "I won't hurt you."

She didn't know if she was telling the truth or not, but she didn't dwell on it. Merely said nothing more and became quiet, content, for now, just to exist.

"Stop it!" he cried, anguished. "Stop talking!"

Her voice was like all threats of death and darkness creeping in on his mind. It was unbearable to feel the foreign presence, the parasitic _monstrosity _having full control over his life support. Her promise not to hurt him was empty, and it gave him no respite from the fear. It was as though letting a snake full of venom and hate to crawl upon one's neck, as though one tiny mistake would end the precarious relation in a heartbeat.

It was now he who couldn't move. The mechanical joints of his armor now belonged to someone else- and they felt filthy and foreign. He couldn't move unless she let him, and the thought sickened him. Her will was like a poison that filled every fibre of his being and he simply wanted it to end.

"Get _**out**_!"

Skry's cries for her to stop talking sparked her own hatred and against her better judgment she decided to let her hatred be known.

_**"NO,"**_was all she said, before taking hold of his arm and twisting it against his will. He could do nothing to stop it; the pitiful strength of his organic muscles were no match for the synthetic machinery that constituted a good portion of his body, and she felt devious delight in the sudden sharp crack the movement elicited.

"I'll keep speaking as much as I like," she continued, unabated. "Don't _ever tell me what to do." _

She spoke with poisonous vitriol, and filled his head with her anger, black as the sky was dark. Though she could do no more at that point then pitifully flail his arms, she could lock his muscles in place and leave him unable to move, as she had been no more than a few minutes earlier.

In his mind, she laughed, a dark sound like rolling thunder, and kept his entire body locked rigid.

"Agh.." he cried weakly as his arm twisted against his will. He wanted desperately for the nightmare to end but he knew begging would get him nowhere. Either way, he realized it was his fault. He had let his aggression get the better of him and it had nearly cost him his life; it had certainly cost him his freedom. It was of some comfort that the thing at least seemed to have no effect on his body temperature; she had adapted and modified her own to match his. If she hadn't been able to, they would both likely be dead.

Skry wondered; could a parasite be reasoned with? Bargained with? He decided it was worth a  
try; anything to free himself.

"What do you want... What do I have to do to get you _out_?" he snarled, restraining his temper.

Skasheel paused to think, momentarily releasing her iron grip on his exosuit.

"You… Don't understand, do you?" she asked quietly, her voice low. "I'm not leaving. I can't survive without a host. I will die. All I want to do is live."

She deliberated for a moment: destroy and torture, or sit back and let him have control. In a rare streak of good nature she sat back and loosened completely her hold on his body, granting him back full will.

Though she felt hatred burn at the back of her mind she ignored it. She was much, much too tired and exerting her control was tiring at best. Silent she let her control fade away, and said, and did, no more.

Her voice echoed in his head like wind blowing through a hollowed skull. Where exactly it was coming from was hard to know, as it was as intangible as energy. Slowly Skry realized he could move again, and the shaking stopped; he no longer strained himself to resist.

Was she gone? Or merely retreated for the moment within him? He shivered. It was disgusting to think about. Shakily he stood up. A cursory glance told him he was fine, not much had changed except the color of his exosuit, which had taken on a violet tinge. Strange, yes, but at the very least not dangerous.

Skry gave a quick glance at the pirate whose body lay limp at the foot of the alley wall. Perhaps his act was cruel, but at least now the pirate host was free. In turn, Skry had taken his burden.

He walked back to the street, where the once comforting light of the streetlamps seemed dismally bright. Strangely enough, the light hurt the wiring within his optical overlay and he squinted, looking down at the ground. A side effect, no doubt. Swallowing the discomfort in his cybernetics he walked back into the bar where all the trouble had started. He slumped into a chair and held the bridge of his nares in his claw. He had frequented this place for so long, and only now was he realizing just how discomforting the damned lighting was.

"Fuck, I don't think I've ever needed a drink so badly in my life."

Ing did not sleep, they merely rested. So where Skry gingerly made his way back to the bar, Skasheel watched with half attention. The coldness of his body made no difference to her. Nor did the heat of her previous host. Temperature had no hold, only the constant swing of light and dark.

For a moment she felt the smallest pang of regret. It wasn't that she disliked her previous host by any stretch, it was simply that the Klexian was a more suitable host. She stopped herself and examined her thoughts. She was thinking _light based_thoughts. Emotions that had never surfaced in her mind before. Empathy, however small. It disgusted her.

She watched as Skry took a heavy seat and ordered another drink, and she tutted.

"What are you doing?" was all she said, annoyed by his subpar habits.

"Trying to get a buzz going, do you mind?" He said, quite loudly. The bartender gave him a quizzical look before shrugging it off and leaving. After all, talking to oneself was more or less expected in a place like this.

A parasite in his suit, and the only thing he could think to do was drown out the thought of it with a drink. Pathetic, maybe, but Skry didn't care. He wanted to forget, to regain that state of mind he had lost earlier where every stranger was blurred, friendly and enticing.

The bartender served him his drink with a protective glove, in a steely little shot glass full of clear, clouding liquid. Not wasting time with etiquette, Skry grabbed the tiny thing, stared at it for a moment and poured the whole thing down. It was pleasantly cold, even to him, and it was a welcome distraction from the burning, itching, alien feel of his infested cybernetic half.

"I do mind, yes," Skasheel snapped, thoroughly annoyed. "If your idiotic grin when I first met you is anything to go by, you're going to be a slobbering imbecile in no time. What the hell is wrong with you?"

She tried to manipulate his delicate machinery, to stop the advance of the liquid, but it had already dissolved into his bloodstream before she realized what had happened. A flare of anger at her vessel's incompetence. At least the pirate she had lived with for so long had the decency to ask her these things beforehand. This Klexian was rude and ostentatious and did things of his own will; a combination she found very distasteful.

Once again she found herself mourning the loss of her previous vessel, and this time she allowed her thoughts to be voiced, lamenting the pirate's sudden death in a show of sadness.

"Perhaps the phrase is overused, but," Skry began, slamming the shotglass down hard on the bar counter. "It's my fucking body, and I'll do whatever the hell I please."

He could hear her, distantly, something emotive and decisively negative. Skry was certainly no empath but the forced proximity to the parasite was making her thoughts somewhat tangible and it peeved him to no end. It was hard to enjoy fake happiness when a being was inside him spreading a sickening and depressing miasma.

He groaned, his head shaking. "Goddamn, you're a downer, can't you go infest the bartender or something instead?"

For a moment Skasheel stole motor control of his head and turned to stare at the barkeeper, ignoring the obvious distress it afforded the Klexian. A moment later she released and let him know her distaste.

"No. I like you better."

"Ow, fuck," Skry mumbled. The fact that she could control his movements at will was enraging. He took some solace in the fact that the creature seemed to be inhabiting a relatively small portion of his body. Though his cybernetics were a very integral part of him, there was a clear, defined barrier between them and his biological body. At least the thing wasn't invading his thoughts anymore. At least, not yet. Remembering that was enough to make him want to gag.

"Well you can screw off, the feeling's not mutual," he said calmly, his eyes glazed downward as he fiddled with his empty glass. Though he knew she had no intention of leaving, there was really nothing he could do to force her. He merely offered useless and spiteful words which, despite their futility, game him a little satisfaction.

"Fine," she replied, nonplussed. "You have a good time being a pissy pants. Just stop _insulting me_and we'll get along fine."

With that she settled down and resigned herself to watching. As long as she was alive and in no immediate danger, she saw no need to control Skry's cybernetics. As long as he was in good health, despite his anger over the whole situation, there was no need to do anything more than watch. So she did.

And then he came in, drunk off his gourd and with a voice as big as his body. Skasheel paid him no heed. Just another drunk alien come to haze his mind with alcohol. She mentally shuddered, involuntarily sending the shake through Skry's body, as well, without meaning to. She was having a hard time understanding why these people found so much solace in something that made them so erratic and proceeded to stop paying attention to anything, preferring instead the comfort of her own mind.

"Whatever," he replied simply. No point in fighting, he decided. Not unless she instigated something. "Just don't overstep yourself, or I'll send us both to hell."

Only now did Skry begin to notice the lumbering bulk who had made his way into the bar. Probably drunk from somewhere else and only here to prolong his stupor, and he made his way straight to the Klexian at the counter.

"Who're ya talking too bud?" he said confrontationally. Green, bulky, with four yellow eyes and drooping pierced ears, a disgusting, black maw and a snout and nares twice as ugly. And by all his actions he was very clearly an angry type of drunk.

"Just a lady friend," Skry said quietly.

"Oh yeah? Where is she, is she hot?"

"No, not really. She's a bit of a bitch and about as attractive as you."

"Hahahaa yeah you're funny, real funny. Prettier 'an you at least," he snarled. Skry didn't respond. He didn't feel like starting something with a drunken stranger, less so after what he'd just had to deal with.

But the green one was relentless, and he wasn't giving up without a response.

"Hey, you heard me right? Got nothing left to say?"

Again Skry was silent, and offered no rebuttle.

"I'm talking to you, and you'd damned well better listen," the green alien growled, rising from his stool and pushing Skry off his own. The Klexian staggered backwards, not expecting the contact. His tail waggered as he refocused his stance and looked back towards his offender.

It wasn't the drunken alien that caught her attention, it was the insult.

"You fucking asshole," she had begun to mutter. "Right after I tell you not to insult me you-"

The following tumble really got her anger started. As Skry clambered back to his feet she got a good look at their attacker and instantly felt revulsion. Of course, she thought. He was drunk, too. A big burly sack of drunken idiocy. Why oh why did these people willingly partake in something so mind altering?!

"Heh, that got your attention, didn't it?" the green monster taunted. A glob of drool fell in almost frustratingly slow motion from one of his oversized lips and he laughed, sounding for all the world like an entire lumber mill compressed into a single being.

"I've come to a conclusion," Skasheel snapped in the back of Skry's head. "The entire population of your dimension is comprised of idiots."

"Yeah well I'd like to see the supposed utopia you come from," he mumbled in response.

The bile-inducing creature before him was clearly looking for a fight. And Skry wasn't one to run. If it came to a drunken beatdown, he was all for it.

"Yeah, you have my attention, ass-clown. So now what?" he said snidely, deciding to wait and see his reaction before he pulled out the stops.

He didn't have long to wait before the drunken creature charged him, yelling slurred and crudely. He threw a clumsy punch in Skry's direction, one the mercenary found he could easily dodge. The alien's momentum carried him forward, and it took a full two seconds for him to turn around and try again. Again, an overshot, and Skry remained unscathed. This was pathetic, he thought, too easy and boring because it presented no challenge. Moving fast he took the drunk's arms in a half nelson and struck him hard in the back of the head.

Unfortunately the strike at the green alien's head did not have the desired effect: there was an almost hollow sounding _donk_, followed by an angry growl and the slow rise of the alien colossus. He rubbed the back of his head, slowly, as though it took him a moment to realize what had happened. Without thinking Skasheel jumped back, assuming control once again despite what she knew would be an eternity of protests.

"His skull is too thick, just like yours," she spat. Just as quickly she dropped away, letting him move his limbs. She didn't trust herself at all to do any fighting in her condition. She still felt far too weak to do anything else than impede his movement, though the temptation was surely there.

"But… Maybe if you let me in just a little more, I can help. All you have to do is say yes…"

She was speaking, of course, of full control over his entire body, more than just his exosuit. A full possession would grant her host substantially more power and abilities, but as is she couldn't do anything unless he gave her permission. Skry would put up an internal fight, and she didn't want to deal with that.

The alien lumbered towards them once more. Though his attacks and movements were slow and predictable, he had power and stamina on his side. A combination of traits that meant they would be at this for a long while still if something wasn't done.

"Forget it, freak," Skry snorted. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to hand his body over to her. He remembered all too well the unpleasant burning and terrifying sensation of having his thoughts invaded by an alien. It wasn't anything he wanted to experience again. "You think I need that kind of help to beat a drunk? You're kidding right?" Honestly he could see the offer as just another pathetic attempt for the parasite to claim what she had wanted all along, and Skry wasn't having it. He wasn't anywhere near the sort of desperation that called for its acceptance.

The drunk charged again, fists primed, and Skry caught them square as they bared down on him. Easily he could've drawn his blade and cut the foul alien's neck right there. But in front of this many people, going lethal wasn't a risk worth taking; he was still sober enough to realize that. So he held him there, fighting against the brute's considerable strength. The pure weight of his opponent was pushing him back, sliding his feet across the polished floor. Thinking quickly, Skry released his hold and swiveled to the side, using his tail like a whip in a heavy, vicious slash at the brute's back.

Annoyed. That's what she was. Annoyed, pure and simple. Maybe her best bet was just to wait until she regained enough strength to just take him by force. Certainly, he was handling the situation quite well. If she had been in his place, she'd have killed the damn drunk way before now, instead of resolutely outwitting him.

There was a loud thud, and the alien had fallen to the ground, a fresh welt across his back where the Klexian's tail had made contact. Skasheel huffed.

"All things in time," she muttered, once again putting everything in ignore. "All things in time."

The drunk groaned and Skry realized he probably wasn't getting up. He allowed himself to relax. The bar-goers stopped staring and went back to their usual business.

The parasite, in turn, responded to his backlash in complacent and chilling words.

"Fat chance," he replied. "I'd take my own life before I'd give it to you," he mumbled. And it was true, as horrible as it might have been to imagine it, he knew would rather be dead than let the parasite take over.

Satisfied in his victory and thoroughly sick of drinking, the Klexian left the bar. It was still the dead of night, and the streets were dark, illuminated only by dully-lit street lamps. Good, he thought, light was annoying now anyways. Exhausted, he started his way back home. Walking was slow but he didn't trust himself to drive, especially with a much larger liability than nitrogen in his veins.

The departure from the bar was a nice change of pace and Skasheel was already enjoying it. The cold, dark night air was refreshing to both of them, it seemed, and it rejuvenated her spirits, if not her woefully inadequate strength. At that her mood dropped, becoming not angry so much as discontent, regretful. Gloomy.

She was in no mood right now to heckle Skry or otherwise make a nuisance of herself. What was the point in such frivolous games? They were both exhausted, a sentiment shared without complaint. They both wanted to rest. At least, she knew she did. And the combined tiredness of Skry only added to hers; she had never felt so tired in her life. Or that she could remember.

Would he really take his own life, she wondered in passing. Most probably. It was a curious notion that these creatures of the light valued their individuality so high that they were willing to end it all just to remain free. Something else she was having a hard time comprehending. First it was mind altering drinks and now this. Skasheel doubted she would ever fully understand the intricacies of this dimension.

It bothered her but she tried not to dwell on it for too long and instead watched with half a mind through Skry's eyes. The night was too beautiful to go unnoticed, and watching the dark shadows go by made her feel but an iota better.

The walk home was longer than Skry remembered. Probably because he rarely walked it. The parasite hadn't spoken up throughout the duration of the journey and that fact came as a great relief.

When he finally got home, he was almost too exhausted to stand, and his first instinct was to resign himself to his quarters and sleep. But a terrible thought occurred to him; what would happen if he slept? He wondered for a moment if the parasite's silence was merely a deception, that she was lying in wait for him to become vulnerable so that she could take over. Sleep, perhaps, would afford her such a chance.

So despite his obvious exhaustion, he was too scared to sleep. He avoided the pleasant comfort of the couch and bedroom and remained instead at the door, awake. He sighed, everything felt twice as heavy as it had been and he didn't truly have the strength to stand. Slowly he slumped down, his back against the door, which shut with a slam upon his hitting the floor.

Tired, so tired, and yet he refused to allow himself sleep.

His resistance to sleep surprised her. She had wholly been expecting him to crash into his bed and fall asleep without any hesitation, and all she had been planning during that time was to rest, herself. So it came as a sudden surprise when instead he fell against the door and stared resolutely at the far wall.

Despite her proud mindset, she allowed herself a laugh. It was almost impressive, watching the new schemes her vessel hatched. She felt almost humbled by his resolute will. Almost.

"Your resistance is certainly admirable," she started, speaking quietly. Even in the sanctity of his head it didn't feel right to yell. "But sooner or later you'll need to sleep. It's what your kind does."

She laughed again, finding morbid amusement in his conflict.

"You know, if you go insane from lack of sleep, it just makes it easier for me."

"Shut up," that was all he offered. He didn't feel like arguing with her. This time he really didn't have the energy.

She was right, of course. Sooner or later he would need to sleep and there was no doubt in his mind that she would take advantage of that state to finish what she had started. He wondered briefly the course his life would take if he simply gave up the fight. To have another being control him, to command his movements and invade his thoughts and dreams. No. It would be a nightmarish existence and he was certain in his own promise to kill himself before he'd let it happen.

So what now? Skry wondered. Was he simply to wait out the time until he was too exhausted to resist and then slit his own throat? His options at this point were decisively dismal.

Once Skry had had dreams of a better life for himself. Of a time when killing for a living was no longer needed and where he could find another of his species to share his life with. A small smile creased his beak when he thought about it. That little fantasy, however, died before it started, tonight, when he had been infested with a life-form whose mere presence signed the end of everything.

Waiting, simply waiting. Waiting to die. He had accepted it, there was not much else he could do but wait. He was tired, in the deepest throes of depression and hopelessness. Everything had changed so quickly and Skry surprised himself with how quickly he had accepted it all.

"Oh my goooood," Skasheel whined, annoyed by the flood of depression and worthlessness that had started to flood from him. "For fuck's sake stop being so god damned emo, I'm trying to rest."

She took a moment to examine his feelings as best she could from his exosuit. Though the connection wasn't as resolute as it had been that brief moment earlier, when she had made contact with his mind, she could still feel his emotions and thought patterns. Once again she found herself feeling somewhat guilty for the whole predicament, blaming it once more on her forced proximity to these creatures of the light.

Maybe it would be better if she just stopped annoying him, maybe at least tried to build a bridge of trust. Her last vessel, the pirate, had willingly become her host and she had enjoyed its friendship. Skry, however, was proving to be a wild card. She sighed.

"Okay look, I'm sorry for this whole ordeal, yeah?" she started, unsure what she was getting at. Maybe his depression was rubbing off on her. It left a feeling of distaste in her mind. "But just… Stop. It's not the end of the world, really. If I wanted to take you over completely I would have tried already. Just stop being such a twit already. Please."

"If you want to stop feeling what I do, then get out," he spat back. He wasn't interested in anything the parasite had to say. And yet one word stood out to him, and for a brief moment, he truly listened.

"You're sorry? You're _sorry_?" he snorted. "Somehow I doubt you have the ability to feel remorse, you pathetic waste of matter." Skry's depression quickly gave rise to anger. Anger at himself, anger over the fight, and most of all anger at the unforgivable invasion by the thing within him.

"If you won't leave, I'll make you leave," he mumbled. It was nearly a whisper, meant mostly for himself. He wondered where the thing would go if it was forced to leave him. Clearly it needed some sort of living, electrical thing to meld with, be it the circuits in his cybernetics or the living body of a host. Where, then, would she go? There were a number of electronics in his apartment, immovable, mindless vessels wherein she would be trapped, at least until the land-lord discovered his corpse and rented the room to someone else. Then she would be their problem.

But the future didn't matter anymore, not to him. Resolute, decisive, in a flash he drew his icy blade and raised it to his own throat.

Panic flared and she took hold of his arm, the blade so close to his neck that she could feel the keen edge even from this distance. Whether it was a twisted sense of self-preservation or some curious attachment to Skry she did not know. She just didn't want him to die, especially by his own hand. The act of suicide made her feel sick.

"No, stop," she demanded, still speaking quietly, calmly. "You kill yourself and what will become of your race? What will become of you? If you cease to exist, you will have changed nothing."

The new anger bubbling up in him was also admirable. He was a being of mixed and decidedly volatile emotions, despite the intense cold of his body. Maybe if he actually exerted his will he could overcome her; a chilling thought.

But it wasn't as if there was nowhere for her to go if he did slit his throat. She could easily possess one of the myriad electronics and twist it to serve her own will, gaining mobility where before there had only been a clock or a radio. The thought was intriguing and for a moment she dwelled on it. If she left Skry maybe he would calm down considerably. But considering his erratic mindset, maybe he would kill himself anyway. Just to be safe.

Sad thoughts, for sure. Skasheel was growing more soft than she would have liked to admit.

"I'll be rid of you, that's what'll change," he spat. He fought against her with all that he could be he couldn't do it. Oddly it felt as though he were fighting with himself rather than the life-desperate parasite, and in the end he simply gave up. It wasn't happening, not now. The blade melted away and he slackened, exhausted from the effort. It wasn't every day he had to fight his own cybernetics with his far weaker, biological body. The sensation was odd, to say the least.

"Extinction is the inevitable outcome for us. One less won't make a difference," he said. "I might as well save the universe the trouble of purging us itself, as it seems so keen to."

Now resigned to talking, for once again he couldn't do much else. "No planet to go to, no way to find each other," he snorted in sadistic laughter. "It'd be a miracle if I had ever found another in my own life time."

Skasheel laughed in a pitiful attempt at changing the mood, only to make it somehow worse. Ing laughter was much akin to rumbling thunder, to a distant, malevolent evil. Not something suitable to lightening the mood. So instead, she retreated back as far as she possibly could, relinquishing all of her control and reducing her presence to nothing more than an unwanted passenger.

"We're both in the same boat," she whispered, her voice far away. "I don't have anywhere to go, either. Maybe we can help each other, in that aspect."

Without another word she awaited what would most like be his scathing response.

"In the same boat, huh," he laughed "Yeah, literally."

Despite the horrendous sound of her laughter he could feel the emotion behind was somewhat benign, and it was comforting to literally feel that it held no deception. Skry felt her retreat entirely now and his body felt like his own again, the burning sensation that ran through his cybernetics lessened. It was as if she wasn't there. He was surprised by the almost respectful position she was taking with him, perhaps finally empathetic to the invasion he had felt and in turn choosing to lessen those emotions, if only for her own comfort.

"I doubt you'd be of any help. You can't move on your own and you're certainly no Klexian," he said calmly, standing up. Sitting on the floor felt degrading and he felt stronger now, enough to allow him to stand.

"What are the odds of two such rarities meeting, and like this, heh," he growled. "Though honestly if your kind is almost extinct, I can imagine why someone would want to see to that... no offense," he grinned.

"Go fuck yourself," she spat, remembering unwillingly the destruction of her home dimension that ultimately culminated in her being one of the last. Truth be told she had no idea if there were any others out there. She certainly hadn't seen any other possessed creatures running around. The solitude of her existence was claustrophobic and oppressive and it soured her mood to have to remember those vivid memories once more.

Skasheel didn't even know if it were possible to go back at all. The dimension was probably still there, laying parallel to everything she experienced here, but the planet of Dark Aether was most certainly not. It had been destroyed in a fiery explosion of phazon and fire, killing every living thing on its surface.

She hoped the Luminoth and that damnable Hunter were proud of themselves, single handedly killing an entire race who had only just discovered life. The Ing race had been young at the time, only a scant few decades old. The Luminoth, by proxy, had been ancient. Maybe if things had happened differently there would have been no war, only peace.

But her people were fierce at best, and even she didn't think peace was at all possible.

"Go to sleep," she said suddenly, trying to ignore the unwanted memories. "You need it."

"Go fuck yourself," she said spitefully.

He laughed in response. "Not a chance while you're watching," he said crudely. The fact that he was lightening the situation with jokes was a sign of an improved mood, and Skry wondered if a sort of unvoiced truce had occurred between the two beings. It was certainly a better alternative to fighting for control all the time.

"I know I need it..." he began. "But just, not while you're there. It'd be like sleeping while a person with a gun trained on your head stands over you." He surprised himself with how open he was being. Was he actually hoping to induce a sympathetic reaction?

"I suppose you only have my word that I won't do anything untoward," was all the Ing said. She promptly shut herself off to everything, falling not into sleep, but into a deep, dreamless rest. She had no interest in anything other than rest anyhow, and the fact that he was no longer spewing hate at her made her feel less animosity, herself.

"Words are cheap..." he said simply. Skry's was a head full of mixed feelings. Desperately he wanted to sleep. He wanted to be rid of the parasite or at the very least be sure he could trust her not to take him over or destroy him. But he couldn't. His fear and paranoia kept him from what he wanted, but in his mind they kept him safe.

Sleep wasn't happening, at least not willfully. He opted instead to lighten the mood some and strike up a conversation, though he wasn't quite sure if the parasite had a sense of humor.

"Hey listen, you're not gonna lay eggs in my stomach or anything are you?"

His stubborn refusal to fall asleep was impeding on her resting time and she deigned to answer his wholly retarded attempt at conversation. Was she going to lay eggs in his stomach… What a stupid question, she thought with a faceless sneer.

Skry would never trust her if she outright knocked the bastard out. Their trust right now was tenuous at best; anything too out of place and he would fall back into his old habits of yelling angrily at her. Something she did not relish experiencing again.

So, quietly, carefully, she cut off oxygen to his brain by slow, slow degrees. The result was a slow, so very slow, creeping fatigue. Followed by drooping eyes and a strained yawn. And a few minutes later, a Klexian finally asleep.

Satisfied, Skasheel retreated back to her dreamless rest and shut out the world, finally able to listen to her own thoughts without being bothered by her vessel's constant bickering. Finally able to get some rest.

A slow, strenuous yawn escaped Skry's beak and for a moment he felt a twinge of panic. He hadn't realized he was this exhausted, and even his fears of what might happen if he nodded off were hazed and unfocused. Nothing seemed to matter except to let everything go dark...

His luminous green eyes flared open. Jerkily he looked around, dazed and confused. How long had he been out? Had anything happened? Frantic he looked at his body, at his apartment. Everything was the same. The floor was cold from his body as he had lain there, presumably all night. Daylight filtered in through the steel blinds. He could move, think, breath, and he felt no burning, foreign presence in his mind. She had kept her word, much to his surprise. He could hardly feel any sign of her anymore, and though he knew it too good to be true, he wondered for a moment if the whole thing had merely been some nightmarish dream. He had certainly dranken enough for such a thing to happen.

A ringing, loud and obnoxious like the clattering of wind chimes, and it spiked a nauseating headache in Skry. Someone was trying to contact him, to open up a video link. "Fuck, not now, anytime but now..." he groaned, clutching his head. With reluctance he stood up, made his way to the intercom and accepted the transmission. "Hello?"

Skasheel kept quiet and inconspicuous and very much annoyed. Why she made such a promise, unspoken that it was, eluded her. Here she had a perfect vessel to take over whenever she wanted, and she was playing the backseat driver like a common parasite. That would never do.

Skry was, somewhere in his mind, hoping fervently that everything that had happened was naught more than a rather vivid nightmare. She could feel it. The hope was very real; he was trying to delude himself even though he knew the truth. Must have been some sort of coping mechanism, she decided. Klexians were strange.

But she decided to let the alien play his little games for a while and watched without a word. The new alien that appeared on the screen of his intercom was intriguing, to say the least. He had a long beak and beady mechanical eyes, replaced who knew how long ago. His voice was sibilant and high pitched and a spiny frill ran down the back of his head. His mouth was halfway open, but when he saw Skry he seemed to pause in mild confusion, his head tilting to the side.

"Got your exosuit dyed, did you Skry?" he asked with a laugh. "You dog you. Hoping to get more ladies?"

He made a suggestive expression and grinned, awaiting an answer.

Skry laughed in response. _So it wasn't a dream then,_he thought to himself. He seemed unfazed by the realization. In the back of his mind he had known it all along.

"Yes, you know, it works quite well, in fact I managed to pick up someone last night, but, well, she wasn't exactly my type," he smiled wryly. He wasn't lying, really, but he decided not to go into any more detail. He looked back to his companion and gave him an almost sarcastic expression. "What do you want?"

Skry's reply seemed to intrigue the new alien and his grin only stretched wider.

"You always were a player!" he said loudly, seeming overjoyed. But then his expression seemed to darken an iota, and the joy was tempered by something else. The beaked alien almost seemed ashamed.

"I…" he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well we've always been close friends, right? And, well…" He trailed off and glanced behind him, at the amorphous blackness he was calling from.

"I need something," he blurted, seemingly distressed by the fact. "And well. We've been friends forever now. I can count on you, right Skry…?"

"Dammit Vhaso this is the third time this month," he replied, exasperated. Though peeved, he had every intention of helping his friend, but he could no longer give his discretion. "What's going on that you need this kind of help so often?"

"Yeah well about that…"

Vhaso rubbed the back of his neck and an all too apparent display of nervousness and once again glanced behind himself, as though he felt he was being watched. By who, or what, was anyone's guess.

"We've been friends for a long time so I guess I can tell you…" he started, still very much nervous. "See, I kind of like… Well no. _Need_ to buy some new uh,_augmentations_, and I was hoping that you, dearest Skry, could help me…?"

Skasheel groaned in Skry's head, annoyed through and through by this alien's sniveling mindset and wholly disagreeable personality.

"I mean, no hurry of course," he started. "But if you could meet over northside in a few hours, yeah? Near the industrial complex? Help a bro out…?"

He nodded quickly, looking hopefully at Skry.

Skry sighed, but in the end he nodded.

"Right, sure," he smiled. He had nothing better to do, and it was no trouble to help, even if the frequency of his friend's pleadings was a bit off-putting. He welcomed the idea of seeing a trusted friend again. The company would be comforting, anyway, especially now. Cutting off the communication, he headed out and into the sunlit city streets.

Skasheel had been about to say something when Skry went outside, and though the light didn't seem to have any adverse effects on him, she hissed and squealed in pain and slunk away as far as she possibly could, short of de possessing him and running away. Which would, of course, have been a very bad idea.

"God damn it, Skry," she hissed, her voice like bubbling poison. "Warn me before you go outside next time, _please." _

Angered by his insolence she came very close to turning him around right then right there and marching them both back into the comforting darkness of his apartment. Instead she bit her tongue and tried to calm her emotions. How he could so willingly prance around out here without going blind was another horrifying mystery that she didn't want to see answered.

After a moment she tried to resurface, just a little, and regain her pride.

"I don't trust that… _Animal,"_she said quietly. "There's something wrong with him."

"Damn it," Skry cursed. Because the parasite was now a part of his cybernetics he felt the distant, unpleasant sensation that she did when exposed to the light. He covered his eyes for a moment, blinking, trying to focus despite the apparent difficulty the light was now giving him.

"Sorry," he muttered. He paused for a moment. Did he really just apologize? To that_thing_? It hurt his pride to even acknowledge it, but he shrugged it off and kept walking.

"Vhaso can be a bit.. unstable sometimes. But he's harmless."

Skasheel took his words with a copious amount of cynicism. Something about the Slyfthys who called himself Vhaso rubbed her entirely the wrong way and made her skin crawl. If she had skin. She didn't want Skry to meet him down… Where was it again? The industrial complex up northside? Though she hadn't been on this planet for a horribly long time, she did know the basic ins and outs of the place.

Northside was a barren, lonely area. The industrial buildings down there pointing accusingly at the smog choked sky and few people set foot on its cracked pavement. No plants grew in Northside. No animals lived there save for vermin and pests. There was no reason to go there at all and the whole situation reeked of something even more insidious than her.

"Okay seriously there's something not right here," Skasheel whined, feeling doubt cloud her mind. She didn't like Northside and she did not want to go there. At all.

"I'm sure he has his reasons..." Skry replied, though unsure himself. As he looked around him he noticed how deserted the place looked. He'd never been to this part of the city before and he wasn't thrilled with what he was seeing.

Loose piles of industrial debris were scattered across the barely-visible streets. Dumpsters overflowing with unattended waste lined the empty alleys, and Skry could hear the sounds of thriving verminous creatures in the depths of each putrid pile. The only buildings were tall, lifeless, conglomerates the only employees of which were almost certainly mechanical.

"This place is disgusting," Skry spat without restraint. "Maybe he is off his rocker...Screw him, I'll contact him later, arrange for a more tolerable meeting place. This is just..." He merely shoo

his head. Skry was certainly no nature-lover, but this desolately, over-urbanized placed creeped him out to no end, and he wasn't staying any longer than he had too. So he turned tail to the place and started back to the city.

From all he could observe, the place was void of life, and he was completely unaware that he was being watched.

Skasheel saw something move out of the corner of Skry's eyes and without thinking turned him towards it, ignoring his protests. A moment later, from behind a derelict building, came Vhaso himself. His ludicrously long backwards legs whined as he walked, the hackneyed machinery singing its sad, high pitched song.

"Skry, my good friend," he purred. The light caught on his glass and steel eyes and sent blinding glare into Skry's, momentarily blinding both him and the Ing. The Slyfthys wrung his hands together in a display of apprehension but looked delighted to see the Klexian all the same.

Skasheel sorely wanted to leave. Everything about this was wrong. But he was Skry's friend, and she thought that maybe she was overreacting, and Vhaso was indeed harmless as he had mentioned earlier. There was that chance, after all. She was wholly ignorant in a lot of things these light based creatures did, so she put her trust in her vessel and tried to quell the feelings of dread that continued to taunt her.

"There you are, I was just about to leave. This place is gross," Skry said cockily. "Why would you want to meet me here anyway?"

"I don't know, the place just has a certain charm, for me."

"You would feel that way, ya metal freak," Skry replied in jest. Insults not meant to be taken as anything but friendly.

"I would, wouldn't I?" Vhaso laughed, agreeing, and the almost fraudulent-sounding laughter stopped almost as quickly as it had started. "But seriously now, there's something I wanted to ask you."

Skry looked suspiciously at his friend. The circumstances of where they had met and the certain, erratic way in which he was talking were causing doubt to rise in his mind, and he thought for a moment if his friend was truly all in his right mind.

Vhaso continued. "Skry, my friend, you're so full of cybernetics, ones built by a soon-to-die race. And with them will go all their splendid technology, it's sad, really."

Skry immediately took his words as insults. Soon-to-die? Even Skry could see that was no slip of the tongue, Vhaso was saying that the Klexians were doomed to extinction, and he made light of that fact.

"Soon-to-die? Just what the hell does that mean," he snarled. Old friend or not, the Slyfthys was no longer on good terms with him.

"Nothing!" Vhaso replied quickly, smiling with forced innocence.

"Skryyy," the Ing whined plaintively, sounding for all the world like a small child tugging on an adult's arm. "Let's go, please."

"It's just… I've had my eye on you for quite some time, my friend. You and your beautiful exosuit…" Vhaso's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, and suddenly Skasheel noticed a very large scar that ran clear across his skull and down the front of his head, ending somewhere on his neck.

"It would be such a waste to see it just disappear, aye? Tell me. Are you an organ donar?" When he was met with no response all he did was laugh. "It doesn't matter, now does it. Dearest Skry, please hold still. It'll only hurt for a moment."

Without warning the alien produced a syringe from seemingly nowhere and launched himself as the Klexian, and before Skry even knew what had happened the syringe was already buried in his neck. Almost immediately he fell to the ground, stunned, and Skasheel could do nothing, for though the potent tranquilizer had deigned to knock her out it left her unable to do anything. Unable to move her stolen joints nor manipulate Skry's body. Unable to do anything save stare out of his eyes and yell fruitlessly at his comatose mind.

"I never lie, Skry," Vhaso said with a nasal snigger, before grabbing the drugged alien by the feet and pulling him towards the derelict building he had originally come from. "I never lie… Oh, and thank you for dying your exosuit just for me. Purple always was my favourite colour."


	2. Part 2

The deceitful Slyfthys wasted no time. He had planned this out, using one of the abandoned warehouses as a crude sort of operating room. He had a table assembled of metal sheaths in the center of the dimly-lit room, uneven on its footing and hardly sterile on its surface. But, then again, he had no concern that the patient would still be alive once it was all over. His metal eyes glinted with greed as he looked the unconscious Klexian over. Cybernetics had become a sort of drug to Vhaso, and he was in the deepest throes of addiction. He simply couldn't resist a prize like Skry.

One piece, in particular, was the most intriguing to him. The regulator in Skry's abdomen, perhaps the most advanced piece of equipment on his body. A power source in itself, and bitingly cold to the touch. It took a colossal amount of energy to keep it that way, and enough was spare to fuel the entire suit. Vhaso eyed it hungrily, placing protective gloves over his clever digits to protect him from the temperature.

He worked quickly, unsure of how much time he had before the Klexian awoke. With a fine, slicing blow-torch and knife he worked his way around the frame to loosen it. The hum of the blowtorch cut out as Vhaso completed the circle. He reached for it greedily and began to remove it. He took no care in how fast he did so, and a long trail of wires and veins came with it. They dripped with liquid methane, which vaporized instantly as it touched the outside world.

The Klexian was still unconscious, and yet he was reacting to what was happening. His hearts raced and his breathing turned rapid. His body was panicking at the regulator's removal-something which had remained in place and a part of him since his birth. Finally the Slyfthys cut the connection, slicing through circuits and flesh alike. Skry's eyes sparked open and a hand shot up weakly from the table. The pained reflex was powerful enough to overcome the drug, and yet all he managed to do was gasp weakly before his eyes shut once more and his body went into a violent seizure. Cardiac arrest, organ failure, anoxia, every manner of deadly results of being torn away from something so vital. The Klexian was dying.

Triumphant, Vhaso clutched his freezing prize close and started giggling. It was really happening; he really and truly had it. He held it reverently, as though afraid it would somehow die on him as easily as his 'friend' on the table. Overjoyed he began prancing giddily around the table like a kid in a candy store, ignoring completely the swiftly dying Klexian, and began singing a discordant song of jumbled words and nonsense.

On the table all Skry could do was grasp feebly at nothing. His hands contracted fitfully; his muscles spasmed. Every breath sent scorching air down his lungs, every moment bringing with it fiery new agony. He didn't have minutes, he had seconds. Seconds that hissed away into nothingness as quickly as his liquid methane blood. There was no time for anything save action. Words took too long. Questions had no time to be answered.

Skasheel was frightened once again. So quickly, he was dying. Like the pirate before, she was facing death head on once again. And it scared her like nothing ever scared her before. But she couldn't sit back and watch, not this time. She'd take the blunt of Skry's angry blame later. Without thinking she slid free from the icy confines of his exoskeleton and made contact with his body, flesh and blood as it was.

Vhaso continued to sing, absorbed by his trophy. Blind to the world.

Skry's death seizures stopped just as suddenly as they started, only to be replaced with the sporadic twitching and flailing of the Ing exerting her dark control. Quickly she stabilized his temperature, stitched up his wounds. Closed the gaping hole in his stomach almost as easily as the deranged Slyfthys had opened it. Made full contact with his mind and pushed it aside all too easily, making room for her anger. Underneath the now defunct exosuit, the Klexian's pale, sun starved skin darkened to harsh, harsh black and amid it all Skasheel let out a laugh. As Vhaso had gained his, she finally had her prize, as well.

Skry was no longer dying; far from it. The Ing was the only thing keeping him alive at this point in time. As his mechanical core had day after day, she took up its purpose through and through. And, excising control over his entire being to the point that it might as well have been hers, she turned to watch the prancing alien.

"Vhaso, you'll have to try harder next time," she hissed, savoring her new spoken voice again. The Slyfthys stopped his inane dancing and stared hard, confused.

"But you're dead," he said quietly. "I killed you."

"You can't kill me, I'm not alive," she retorted sardonically, sitting upright. The Klexian's wings had become menacing, steely-spiked and blackened, and thick spines protruded from between his shoulder blades, glowing hot purple at the base. Laughing she slid from the table and stood, staring through burning orange eyes.

"You're dead," was all Vhaso could say. He held the stolen core close, protectively, ignoring the frostbite it gave his deadened skin.

"I'm going crazy, that's it, just crazy," Vhaso stuttered. What other explanation could there be for the mutatious monster that had taken the place of the dead Klexian? Disbelief soon turned to confused anger, and he pointed accusingly at the Ing-turned monster. "You should be dead!" he cried. Terrified, he clutched his prize and ran, out of the warehouse, into the deserted streets, seeking escape.

Skry's own mind resurfaced and he found himself staring through new eyes. Everything felt so.. foreign and strange, as though he were a visitor in his own body. He realized in horror that he had no control, over anything. Over his movements, his breathing, even his own memories, which all had seemed to have thrown up a barrier to him. He was powerless, in the truest sense of the word. All he could do was watch, passively, and wail piteously in his head that the parasite should've simply let him die than do this.

But Skry refused to go out without a fight. With every fiber of his will he fought back against her, pushing back as he had been, trying desperately to tear down the barrier between his own mind and body.

"But I granted you LIFE!" Skasheel screamed, furious with everything. Angry at Vhaso for what he had done, at Skry for not appreciating her gift to him, and angry at the sudden push he was exerting against her control. She tried to walk, to move; to give chase to the deceitful alien who was probably long gone by now. But Skry pushed back with seemingly no care, and she found her entire body locking up.

"I can kill him, for you," the Ing pleaded, her mind a confusing muddle of emotion. "Why won't you let me?"

Unable to go forwards or back, unable to destroy the maniac who had wrought so much harm with so little care, she found herself falling to her knees. Was this how it felt, she thought suddenly? Was this how Skry felt when she had first possessed his armour, or how the pirate had felt so very long ago? It was a sickening feeling.

"Don't you want to kill him?" she whispered, motionless on the floor. "Look what he did to you."

"Yes I want to kill him!" he cried angrily, speaking with his own voice, barging past the parasite and regaining some control. "_I_ want to kill him, with my _own_will, not yours," he snarled.

She was too overcome with emotion to think rationally.

"But he hurt you," she sobbed, slowly releasing her hold. "He… He hurt us…"

Skry's eyes regained their subtle green and he stared down in disbelief; his body had become his own again.

"No, he only hurt me," he growled. "You were just an unlucky bystander." He rose from the floor, tottering for a moment on unfamiliar legs before running out the door in furious pursuit.

He was angry now, angrier than he had ever been, and he wanted Vhaso dead. For what he had tried to do to him, and even more so what the ultimate result had been. Instead of dying he had to be saved by the parasite, and even now he could feel her mind creeping in on his own, invading his thoughts. She knew he was disgusted, she knew he was angry. She knew everything about him and his life and his aspirations. But it didn't matter. Not now. All that mattered was retrieving his core and murdering the sniveling bastard who had stolen from him.

Skry felt strong, dangerous, augmented beyond his wildest dreams. Another side effect of the infestation, and one in which he relished. Strength was good, no matter what the source; it only served to fuel his bloodlust.

He caught up with Vhaso easily, rounded back for a leap and pounced on him, violet talons digging like daggers into his weak, pale skin. The Skyfthys held the regulator pathetically to his head, as though to use it as a shield. Skry knocked it from his grasp and gave a vicious roar straight into his face. He found the action perplexing, as the voice that resonated from within him was anything but his own. Klexians did not roar.

He drew his blade, black as midnight and ablaze with violet smoke, and he locked his vicious eyes onto Vhaso own, terrified pair.

It was both Skry and Skasheel at once that delivered the killing blow, the blade driven by both their furies. Skasheel didn't stop to wonder if she was merely feeding on his anger in place of her own, or if she honestly was feeling righteous rage at Vhaso's wrong doings. She was far too confused and distraught.

Maybe the close, close call with death had traumatized her deeply without her even noticing. The Ing didn't remember ever feeling so confused and _frightened_before. But now that Vhaso's head was lying neatly on the ground, no longer attached to his body, she felt some of the confusion lessen. The disembodied head was even smiling. He must have really loved that core.

"Is this how I'll live," she said quietly, not talking to Skry in particular as much as she was giving voice to her thoughts. She felt out of it, and speaking in his head, rather than aloud, seemed her best course of action. "Never get to walk. Never get to speak. Never get to live. My sole purpose will be to keep you alive. And you won't care. Because I'm just a parasite.

I'm only half a life."

She really had grown soft. On Dark Aether she'd be fighting her war, killing Luminoth, delighting in the kills. Here she was instead, crying over the reality of her existence to someone who had made it clear time and time again that he hated everything about her. She considered leaving him right then and there, killing both of them at once.

But why, when it was obviously she who was unwanted. So instead she became quiet and resolved herself to live as nothing more than a living power core.

Skry rose from the bloodied ground and let his blade melt away. In that instant he felt a pang of remorse for all he had said to the creature. Perhaps it was fate that she happened along. After all, if he had come here alone he would be dead. He shook his head; he didn't have time to ponder such trivial things.

Skry's anger had dissipated with the satisfying conclusion that was Vhaso's death. Even though at one point he had been his friend, no amount of memory could absolve what he'd done.

He heard the parasite. Resolute and resigned to remain and support him. A nice sentiment, perhaps. "Don't get any ideas that you're staying in there," he said simply, calmly. He walked over and retrieved the regulator from the ground. Despite the insanity of the thief, it was still in good condition. Skry, however, had no idea how to repair himself.

He turned it over in his hand and sighed. "The only ones who know how to fix me... are Klexian."

"I really don't know if these emotions are mine," Skasheel started quietly, speaking mainly for the sake of speaking. "But I… I just want to help."

There was a curious silence, between the two. Skasheel knew all about the Klexians just by having possessed one. The race was scattered and rare, just like her. Finding another, and a surgeoun at that, was a daunting task. It could be done, of course. It would probably take a while and the Ing doubted they would magically run into another Klexian anytime soon. Considering how she had never seen one before last night, there probably weren't anymore Klexians on this planet save for Skry.

She watched him stare despondently at the regulator. How strange it must have been for him to see the one thing that had allowed him to live all of his life, now held in his hand like a plaything. Its importance seemed greatly diminished.

"My name is Skasheel, by the way," she blurted suddenly, surprising herself. She had never divulged her name to anyone and she didn't know why she was doing it now.

"Well I guess I don't have much choice other than to let you, now do I?" he said sarcastically.

"My name is Skasheel, by the way."

He snorted. _The thing has a name?_he thought. Never once had he even stopped to consider that a parasite would have such a need for something as personal and individually expressive as a name.

She could hear him. His condescension, his hate. He knew it. And yet she was able to keep her own thoughts hidden away despite her complete invasion of his. He didn't like it one bit, but as long as she was keeping him alive he didn't really have much right to object, but that didn't change the way he felt.

"I would exchange introductions, but I'm sure you've already torn that information from me anyways."

She took his hostile rebuttal with a grain of salt and tried not to let it bother her too too much. His exceedingly harsh personality was proving hard to get used to; she was used to the calm reserved mind of her old pirate friend but he was long since dead. With Skry she felt a confusing mixture of anger and sadness all at once. She knew she could so easily take his mind and break it but that seemed a far too immoral a thing to do.

"You have a vehicle, right?" she suggested, trying to brighten the dismal mood by changing the topic. "There's lots of hospitals around the less… _Repugnant_, parts of the city. It doesn't hurt to start looking right now."

She paused for a moment.

"That is… Unless you'd prefer to drown your sorrows in the drink again…?"

The remark had been meant purely as a joke.

Skry laughed. "Ha, no, no more. It just seems to get me into trouble." He paused for a moment. "But I wonder now if it would get you drunk too. Now that, I'd like to see," he smiled wryly. He was joking, of course, he had no plans to touch the stuff for a while now, but he was, all the same, genuinely curious.

"I was born on this planet decades ago, and I'm not sure anyone will have Klexian accommodations anymore but... I suppose you're right I should start looking."

So not hesitating to argue he headed back to the city, back to the bar, where he had left his motorcycle.

"I do not have any wish to be… Compromised," the Ing hissed, firmly against the adverse effects liquid nitrogen had on her vessel yet, at the same time, almost morbidly curious, herself.

"And no I'm not curious, either," she snapped before Skry had any chance to interject. "I just… Prefer to have my wits about me."

If she had a body of her own, she would have turned her nose in the air and sniffed patronizingly, having all the air of a dignified member of royalty.

"Pride from a parasite, huh," Skry scoffed. "I have no plans now but, I may just have to test it out later." The thought of getting Skasheel tipsy was all too tempting and he delighted in the idea of knocking her back. Perhaps it would even loosen her hold on him. Skry wanted desperately to have the privacy of his mind back. He had always been reserved and reclusive with his emotions, and now he was being forced to share everything he thought and felt. He made his discomfort known. If the parasite was so keen to invade on his thoughts then she too would have to share the burden of his negative feelings.

Finally he made it back. He was surprised he had no trouble remembering where he had parked. His ride was there, just as he had left it, visored helmet in place atop the handlebars. He placed it on his head, feathered frills sticking from the back, and took his place atop the cycle. Despite the changes to his biology it still recognized him, and he was able to start it up and ride off.

"Pride is all I have left," she snapped bitterly, her tone a little harsher than she would have liked. It seemed one moment Skry was pushing her buttons and the next he simply didn't care and it was pissing her off.

"I'm half tempted to show you my mind, as well. But I doubt you would enjoy it."

"Nope, I really wouldn't. Keep that shit to yourself," he snapped back. He said nothing more and merely tried to focus on driving. He didn't have much of a plan besides simply finding the nearest hospital and asking around about Klexian medical care. Surely someone, somewhere, had what he needed.

"You _arrogant asshole!_" she yelled suddenly, having reached her breaking point. His infuriating nature and absolute disdain for her existence, despite the respect she was trying to show him by not completely possessing him earlier and saving his life was too much for her to handle.

Before he had any time to react, she took hold of his entire body and swung the motorcycle into the oncoming lane of traffick, dodging oncoming vehicles despite their honks of startled protest. She left only his face untouched by her insidious control, so that she could speak to him and him to her with their one voice.

"How can you live with so little respect for anyone else?" she growled lowly. In the confined space of his helmet, the warped, hollow undertones she gave unto his voice sounded all the more sinister. "I'd hate to see how you treat others with such a_degrading_mindset."

A rumbling, slow moving semi-truck just barely clipped them but the Ing managed to keep the motorcycle from spinning out of control.

With a spark of remarkable will, Skry slammed down on the brakes and tore into a 180, cycling around the front wheel and digging his talons into the steely street to stop himself. He had maneuvered them to the side of the road and out of harm's way. He was angry now, and he made no effort to hide it. After all, nothing was hidden from her.

"I respect those who deserve it. You see my memories, you see my nature. I can love, I can care, I can respect. This hatred is reserved for _you_. I don't _care_ what you've done to help me, and I don't _care_ how much supposed restraint you're trying to show with this. My body and life are mine alone, and you _invaded_them, and I will hate you until the day you die."

Furious, she gripped down on the accelerator hard, causing the back wheel to spin wildly out of control against the cold hard concrete. Black smoke billowed up, choking the lungs of passersby and burning their eyes.

"You hate me because of what I am," she hissed back. The strange duality of this dark alien speaking to himself on a revving motorcycle was a sight many of the passing civilians had never seen, and presently Skasheel had gained them a small crowd. "You hate me for something I had no say in. For god's sake, you twit, it's like hating a thief because he needs to steal to eat, because he inconveniences you. You're hating me solely based on my race."

Her words struck him hard and for a moment he didn't know how to respond. His eyes widened and he looked around him. People were watching him, and, suddenly self conscious, he bit down with all his willpower and rode away, away from their prying eyes. He didn't need their accusing stares reminding him of his impending insanity.

He rode, no longer with a destination. He was simply running away, figuratively, as though the speed of his motorcycle had any effect on escaping the parasite, on escaping the dreadful, evil, and yet guilt-inducing voice in his head. For all his hatred he knew she was right, and asking her to leave was asking her to die.

Finally he stopped. The streets were empty, and there were only a few straggling people in this less populous area of the city. The motor rumbled as it stalled, impatient to his indecision.

"You're a parasite..." he said softly. "Such a damn shame you're also sentient."

With the retreat of the city throng, she felt her anger abate just a little. Out here, in the outskirts, amid the abandoned buildings and unchecked vegetation growing wild, she felt a little more at ease. Maybe it was the close proximity of so many other people that was getting to her, she didn't know. Ing usually were loners solely by nature.

"You're a parasite..." she heard him mutter softly. "Such a damn shame you're also sentient."

"Why?" she spat back bitterly. "Can't accept the fact that other creatures live differently than you? Or maybe you have a hard time thinking of anything other than yourself and your putrid kind as 'alive'."

Her anger left a bad taste in her stolen mouth, like pennies and blood.

"You only call me a parasite because you have no idea what my race is like. Maybe if you were displaced to another dimension, where the very _light_ was lethal, and you were forced to live in the bodies of others because reality burns, then you'd understand. Until then, don't you fucking _dare_call me a parasite when you have no bloody CLUE what it's like to be one."

It was true; he didn't. Skry looked out on the city and removed his helmet. His eyes were half closed and he seemed contemplative. His anger was gone, replaced by guilt and indecision, questions and moral dilemmas. A sharp, low cooing echoed from his throat, a quiet, sad sound like pan flutes and birds. The sound of Klexian sorrow. For the first time he could remember, he felt guilty enough to express it.

"To die, or infest another's mind... seems like an impossible choice," his gaze remained fixed and unfaltering, staring into the landscape. "But that doesn't make either choice any more justified."

"It wasn't a hard choice to make at all," Skasheel admitted, feeling shame for her past deeds. "The Horde went to war… So we did, too. It was what we did. Infect and infest, and turn the races of the light against themselves. I never questioned my superiors, for we were Ing, and it was what we did.

"But _now_I don't even know. They lied to us, the Emperor and his council. The Ing Horde. There was so much war and all we did was fight and even then I remember wanting it to end. So when my home was destroyed I saw no harm in doing what I always did and stealing what wasn't mine."

She trailed off for a moment, became suddenly quiet.

"I was… Wrong, to do what I did to you. And you have all the right to hate me for it. But please stop calling me a parasite. I don't think you realize how much it stings to be reduced to something so insignificant when I used to be something much more."

Skry sighed. "Look, I... damn, I don't even know anymore," he rested his head on his helmet and closed his eyes in bitter confusion. His tail and wings twitched in annoyance, and the tiny reflexes made him realize that the creature had given him full control once more. He opened his eyes and blinked, his voice stronger now. "I don't blame you for what you did. I can't say I would've done the same if I were you but... I don't really know what that's like so I'll steer clear of comparing."

Skry looked into the shiny glass of his helmet's visor and grimaced. The twisted face that returned his gaze made him realize just how much the symbiote had affected him. He glanced down at his regulator, attached firmly to a magnetic clamp. "I don't like what I've become, I.. don't like what you've made of me, so please," he said, raising his head, "I just want to get back to normal, and, I'll help you find a way to live. I swear."

She listened carefully not to his words, but to his meaning. And his meaning was pure, indeed. Skry was tired from the burden of everything that had been thrown on him in the span of a day and she felt immense guilt for having forced it all upon him.

"That's the most wonderful thing you've said yet," she said quietly. "In return, I will help you, to the end."

"Heh," he muttered. A mix of exasperation, conclusion, and the simple fact that he felt too dignified to return her touchy-feely response. Even so, he was grateful that at last the two beings had made peace. The confident flare had returned to his eyes. He replaced his helmet.

"Just.. be at most a _backseat_driver this time. Alright?" he said before at last speeding back into the city.

She met his good natured remark with a quiet chuckle of her own, followed by, "No driver's seat at all…?"

He deigned to respond and she watched the city flash by in all its bright lights and colours. The constant itching burn of the light in her eyes was something she could never get used to and she was glad Skry had saw fit to wear his tinted helmet.

The nearest hospital came quick; a rather sad looking building near the empty part of town they had just left. Though despite its ramshackle demeanour there was life, inside. People going in and out, ambulances lined up like red and white sentries, doctors on break, watching the sky. They came to a stop across the street and stared at it for a moment. A good a place to start as any. Skasheel doubted they would find any leads but there was certainly no harm in trying.

Skry dismounted and removed his helmet. He felt comfortable enough to face public places again, now that he wasn't screaming at himself. He made his way into the hospital, an unfamiliar and almost daunting place. Truth be told he'd never been inside one since his birth, and he doubted they'd have the means to treat him, especially without damaging his exosuit.

He walked right up to the receptionist and hesitated before speaking. Asking for obscure information came as unnatural and awkward to the mercenary, especially when the person he asking was so mundane and minuscule.

"Uh, hi," he began awkwardly. Shaking off the discomfort he tried to grin. "I'm uh, looking for any information regarding Klexian medical care. Do you have any information that might be useful? Anyone in the district who knows about that sort of thing?"

The receptionist recoiled, momentarily taken aback by his off-putting voice and piercing orange eyes. His failed attempt at a smile disturbed her the most.

"I, uh…" she started, averting her attention to the seemingly endless number of pocket books, ledgers, and scattered papers that lined her desk. She picked through them quickly, nervously, but it was more than obvious by her actions that anything regarding to Klexians was not housed here.

"No, sir," she said after a moment, daring herself to meet his gaze again. "Nothing of the sort here. But… If you check out the other side of town, you might find something down there. I hear tell there's a new doctor working out there… Don't know anything about him, though."

Quickly she looked down again and resumed the frantic scribbling in a rather big account book that had occupied her before Skry's arrival.

"Other side of town..." he repeated, rubbing the back of his head. It was a huge city and that was a long way to go for so vague a league. "Thanks," he said shyly, slightly taken aback by how frightened she had seemed at him.

He trudged back to his motorcycle and stood for a moment, looking up at the stars. Night had fallen in the short day that took place on this world and the darkness was comforting, to the creature within him and by extension him. Night was good, it made him happy, a strange sort of emotion that he knew was not his own, and the strangeness of it startled him, making him feel almost guilty from taking pleasure in it. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling. He blinked, thinking, collecting his thoughts.

"The hospitals can wait," he decided. There were bars near here, after all.

Skasheel felt a very familiar weight in the pit of her stomach.

"What… NO," she said, quite loudly, adamant to not go to anymore bars tonight. Or at all. "NO. You keep away, you hear me. I will _not_get drunk with you."

She resisted as best she could without totally overstepping her boundaries as she knew the Klexian hated. She tried locking his legs in place but his annoyed growls put her off. She tried whining and pleading in the back of his head but he was adamant. She tried getting him to turn around right then and there but her own morbid curiousity and his unyielding focus eventually found them both in a bar again.

Annoyed she settled on grumbling angrily as he ordered his beloved liquid nitrogen, hoping that maybe, just maybe, by bitching at him he'd get the message and turn around and leave.

"Just be quiet already," he growled. He was impatient and bored and didn't want to put up with her pleadings. The barkeeper placed two shot glasses in front of him.

"One for you, and one for me," he grinned. "And if it doesn't work that way, I'll just get a double shot, so everyone wins." He wasted no time and picked up both glasses in one claw. "Cheers."

She protested admirably but he had downed them so fast that she couldn't do anything about it.

"There are you happy?" she snapped, not relishing the feeling that would hit him when the cold, cold liquid met his equally cold, cold veins. "Now let's leave, you insufferable twit. I don't like being here."

"Not yet," he smiled, placing the shotglasses down. "Juust give it time." He closed his eyes and sighed, fiddling with the glasses and waiting for that satisfying rush of cold when the stuff finally hit his blood.

It took about fifteen minutes, during which time they both sat there, her fidgeting and him trying to ignore her. Then it hit her, gradually. A slow, cold suffusion that spread outwards from his hearts and into the rest of his body, flooding him with a curious sense of well-being, like nothing mattered.

She shivered. The sensation was eerie at best, offering her little comfort.

"Okay there you're drunk let's go."

She could feel the miasma take gentle hold of his mind and turn his thoughts soft, like gentle bubbling mud. And, by proxy, it slowly affected her, as well. Nervous she tried to get Skry to stand and leave. Her anxiety manifested in his two hearts beating more rapidly than normal, and she was finding the simple act of speaking increasingly difficult.

"Skry I…" she lost her train of thought almost as quickly as she thought of it. "I mean I… What was… Who are you?"

Thinking rationally had suddenly become a chore and she could vaguely feel the mirth he was feeling at her drunken stupor. The drink itself hadn't affected her; it was him. His drunkenness was sent to her twinfold, and she felt what he did only to a higher degree.

If she were sober she wouldn't have liked it. As she was now, all she could do was babble incoherently, confused.

"Hahahaa..." he laughed, almost giddy with the effect it had had on her. He wasn't even drunk and already she couldn't speak. It seemed to have had an even greater impact on her than it did on him and it made him smirk in satisfaction. He could feel her losing her hold on her coherency, even though he hadn't had enough to severely affect his own sobriety.

"Well, that's all I wanted to see," he said, getting up from the counter. They could resume their search tomorrow. Once again, he was exhausted and now that Skasheel's will had slackened, Skry figured it would be all the easier to find peaceful sleep. He headed home.

The drive home was nothing but a blur of sound and light that the Ing couldn't make heads nor tails of, and the constant rev of the engine sent spikes of pain through her mind. Everything was too loud and too bright and just generally too much for her to bear. She couldn't speak properly and every time she tried to exert her control over Skry it just weakened and fell away.

It came as a blessed relief when they left the monster that was his motorcycle outside and a moment later took up residence in his darkened apartment. She didn't know quite what Skry had planned; probably just sleep. How he enjoyed his sleep, while all she could do was rest. Ing didn't sleep, it was a fact that for some reason was starting to bother her. She wanted to dream, too.

"You know," she started, speaking with more of an open mind then she ever had. She didn't notice it, but the drunkenness had stripped her bare of inhibitions. "Skry, you're… A reeeal good dude, yeah? I…" She trailed off, distracted for a moment by a mirror on the other side of the room.

"I mean if it weren't for you, I'd be dead…"

Her words came out slurred and forced and she tried to keep her mind from spinning too out of control. Without her usual calm logic she could feel her subconscious bubbling up, and feelings she never really knew she could even feel made themselves more known.

"And we both know how much I… I'm… Scared."

"Wow, you're really hammered, aren't you?" he laughed. "This is hilarious. I'm feeling a _little buzzed_myself but you're just... heheh," he trailed off into quiet laughter. He was in a decisively good mood, satisfied that in a way, he had beaten her, as if it were a competition. He calmed down, laughter fading. "Anyways, I'm tired." he said simply, making a sloppy beeline for the couch and falling flat on it. He stretched, feeling the lengths of his modified body and exosuit. Strange though they were, he had gotten used to them, and considering the state of the symbiote who had changed them, they were hardly anything to fear anymore.

Though he had collapsed face first onto the bed, he had not gone out yet. He lay there, quiet, feeling his happy thoughts. Content he was in the assumption that she could do nothing to him, and free was she, with her logic and rationalizations cast carelessly to the side.

It was a bad mix, but neither he nor she realized it. In her drunkenness, she fell back on happier, more comforting thoughts, and realized without fully realizing it that she had gained new emotions pertaining to the Klexian she was part of. Without really meaning to, and he didn't fully notice, either, she found herself looking in on his thoughts. His memories. His dreams and ambitions. His lifelong goals that he always kept buried so deep, for fear he would never attain them.

Despite his hostile personality, this alien was capable of such things as love. And despite her malevolent background and upbringing, so too was she. Her thoughts softened. Her mind became lenient.

"I think I love you," she whispered, finding strange assurance in uttering the word she had never really understood before now.

Skry's eyes bolted upon. That was the first coherent sentence he'd heard since the bar and it shocked him. He jerked upwards and practically screamed. "What?!" he cried, twisting his face into one of abject disgust and confusion. "Fuck! I'm sorry I ever thought it was a good idea to get you drunk, don't say things like that..." he shook his head.

The feeling was anything but mutual and Skry did his best to push her away, to put her thoroughly disturbing words out of his mind. She was drunk, after all, she couldn't do much but prattle aimlessly in his head, he thought. Though even that had become extremely unsettling.

Hurt, she pulled back, away from him. But didn't he feel the same way? He yelled at her a lot. He called her names. He insulted her. But she had saved his life, and he had saved hers. She was confused. Anger did not flare, only indignant hurt. There was no logic to fall back to, only more wild emotion.

"But I… And you. Don't you…"

There must have been a way to show him how much he meant to her. Maybe if she… Just so carefully took hold of the straggling edges of his mind and tweaked them just right, then she could show him. And maybe if he saw, then he wouldn't yell at her so much. That would be nice, she decided. For him to not yell at her so much.

"What about… Now?" she asked tentatively, trying to make him feel her love, so that he in turn would understand.

Skry flinched visibly at the unfamiliar flood of emotion in his mind. A warm, creeping sensation entered his freezing body and the edges of his beak blushed dull violet.

He let out a short and cut-out gasp, as though he were trying to say something but couldn't. The feeling shocked and dazed him, not simply because it was forced and unnatural but because it was pleasant. Pausing for a moment to absorb it all he shut his eyes, shook his head, clutched it in his claws in denial.

"Stop, please stop it..." he cried quietly. Even though his rationale and intelligence were having a hard time combating the forced emotions.

Resolute she pressed on, altering his vision into something that wasn't there… Another Klexian. Lithe, able bodied. A warm smile on her face.

"I love you," she spoke softly, her voice ethereal and indulgent, like an aurora on a cold winter night. In the back of her mind Skasheel wished she could actually be the female Klexian that she had conjured, that only Skry could see. Maybe, then, he wouldn't hate her as much. If she were one of his own kind, instead of the monstrous being from a dead dimension that she truly was.

Lost in her own fantasy, she lived as the non-existent avatar, and smiled at him.

"Don't you love me too?"

Skry looked up from his meek pleading and was completely lost for words. She was like a creature from a fairy tale, and he struggled to believe what he was seeing. In the back of his mind he knew it was too good to be true. In the back of his mind he knew this was all horribly wrong. That he had never met another Klexian since he was a child, let alone the fela he had hoped to one day share his life with. But those feelings of rationale had been pushed aside. By fake, forced feelings, by the beautiful Klexian whom he had only dreamed of finding, and by the Ing's relentless drive to manipulate him into creating the romance that she wanted to feel.

"I..."

He sat there, stunned, unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to object. She had pulled the very dream from his mind and manipulated his sight and senses into believing it was real. Quietly she approached him, the sound of her light footfalls perfectly in tune with the illusion of her gait. She sat beside him and without waiting for his answer, wrapped her arms around him and met his beak with hers.

Undetectably, the symbiote manipulated his mind to feel every intricate detail of the kiss, and he returned it. Skry's eyes glazed over and finally closed, unable to hold himself back from the fantasy so perfectly created for him. He returned her tight embrace, his wings vibrating in a pleasant rythym that sent out a peaceful sort of natural music. He had abandoned himself completely.

Finally they parted, eyes still closed, resting the crest of their foreheads against one another's.

"I love you too..." Skry's voice echoed. Instantly his eyes flared open, wide with realization. His face twisted to one of anguish and he rose angrily from his seat and shook his head, eyes clamped shut. For it was not he who said those words, but Skasheel. So desperate was she to hear those words from him that she went as far as to take control and make him. He had felt her control, and it snapped him back to reality and forced him to realize the atrocity of what she had just done to him.

He turned back to the apparition on the couch, his expression one of pure, lamenting anger. He screamed in rage and thrust a claw directly into her, and she faded to blurs just as soon as he did. He screamed again with such emotional agony that he felt he would burst. Instead he took out his anger on the walls, throwing painful, massive blows across them, defiling the apartment with vicious claw-marks. Icy liquid filled the brims of his eyes as he screamed, filled with pain and fury.

At last he calmed down, his breathing heavy, exhausted, his apartment severely damaged and disheveled from his outrage.

"How can you do this," he cried, voice cracking. "How can you taunt me like this, treat me like your plaything. You sick, vile creature, I wish you were DEAD!"

Hurt flooded through her mind and snapped her out of her drunken daze, back to reality. She didn't even realize what she had done, but the very real agony in Skry's voice was enough to bring her to tears. She glanced around. The walls were ruined. The furniture was torn. The entire apartment looked like a tornado had raged through.

The fading whisp of a female Klexian caught her attention but it was gone just as quick as it appeared, and suddenly, among the confusion, she remembered. She had done something horrible, something without moral. She had stolen and twisted his memories and didn't even realize what she had done, for she had been far too out of it to stop herself.

The fantasy had been beautiful. And she could not say no.

_"You sick, vile creature, I wish you were DEAD!"_

His words cut her deeper than anything had before. Deeper than the sharpened claws of other Ing at the Proving Grounds on Dark Aether, or the monumental destruction of her home. Deeper even than Skry's own blade, when he had sliced the throat of her pirate host. It felt as though a piece of her had been shattered, torn forcefully from her body.

She felt abysmal, horrid, and suddenly very incomplete. This was the final line. She had exposed herself for what she truly was; a parasitic monstrosity with no hope for redemption. All along Skry had been right: the universe would be better off without her disgusting kind spoiling it.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, feeling his cold tears run down his face. "I… You're right."

Though she no longer suffered the ill effects of the Klexian's drunkenness, she still wasn't running on logic. Now, hot emotions. Emotions she couldn't ignore, that peppered her like stinging rays of light. She was an abomination and, as she finally understood love, so too did she understand how unnatural she was.

Killing herself was the only answer. Suicide was the best way. Without thinking she slowly began to detach her essence from his, one strand of darkness at a time. Without her, he would die, too. But then so would she. And she had made up her mind.

She did not deserve to live.

No sooner had she begun to detach herself that Skry felt the instant pain of the outside world. Fiery and molten, it was unbearable, and instantly he realized his mistake, before it was too late.

"No, no, stop," he murmured, his voice still clouded and hoarse. "Come back... my body won't survive without you." Momentarily the burning pain stopped advancing as the creature hesitated. "As much as I _hate_you I need you," he cracked. So much in that moment did he wish the parasite would simmer away to nothingness. But if she did, then so would he.

The decision was just as mind jarringly painful as his words. She really did love the Klexian, she realized that now. It was a sudden shock, to come to such a conclusion, and it only made her feel worse. She wasn't meant to feel love. She did not deserve these emotions. It felt like she had been granted them, only to have them waved tauntingly in her face, insulting her from afar.

_Maybe that's why we go to war,_ she thought slowly. _Because Ing are not meant to feel anything other than hate. Look what it brought me. More pain. _

But the happiness she gleaned just from seeing Skry smile was more than the new sorrow she gained from existing. And with a heavy heart she reclaimed her place inside his body, shutting down all of her conscious wills and desires so that none of them would touch him. And by proxy, she no longer saw nor heard anything he said or did or thought.

Ing didn't slumber, but right then and there, she did.

And so she went to sleep with no intent to wake up.

The burning stopped entirely and the creature retreated back inside him. So far, in fact, that the malevolent violet that had claimed his body now faded back to its original blue. The parasite invaded him no longer. It merely rested its energy form within his core, pulsing power and life to his entire body. Skry no longer felt a second sentient creature. Skasheel no longer saw, heard, felt, no longer stole any form of conscious observation from him.

The weight of his whole situation bared down on him and it took all the strength he could muster not to have a breakdown again. He pushed away the remorse, pushed away the anguish, and allowed himself to feel only anger. For with anger in place of lament, he still had his dignity.

The windows were shattered and glass littered the street two floors below. Skry saw them as a sort of violent escape from the disheveled confines of his living space, and so without thinking, leap out and down the nearest one. The Klexian landed gracefully on his feet, his long, hocked legs bending to adjust for the impact.

With a scowl firmly etched across his face he walked, with no destination in mind but the journey.

For the first time in her life, she dreamed.

She didn't understand, because she had never dreampt before. It was an alien concept, to her. The images that flashed inside her sleeping mind were dazzling and colourful, and with the mere touch of a sub-conscious thought, they changed.

She was no longer an Ing. She was a Klexian, like him. In her dream it was reality, and it filled her with so much happiness that she thought she would surely die. But death was an unknown in her fantasy, and together they walked across lakes of liquid methane, in bliss.

Her dream changed. She was no longer a Klexian. She was a Space Pirate, fighting against a warrior clad in orange. Every shot she fired missed, every spoken word she roared was not understood. The Hunter was fast and proud and had no remorse when she killed. In her dream, Skasheel was terrified. The phazon bubbled behind her. Above the sky writhed with distorted purple clouds. And underneath her feet the ground was cracked and contaminated, the blue mutagen spreading across the ground like broken lightning.

There was an explosion. It rocked the entire dimension, and she cowered in fear. The Hunter was gone, but so too, was her home. Like a lost child, she had ran.

In reality she was nothing more than the tiniest blob of darkest midnight. She shivered in her sleep, her mind afire with rapidly changing dreams. Delicate tendrils of herself extended into the labyrinth of wires and veins that made up Skry's internal network, the only thing really keeping him alive. She uttered tiny little squeaks and twitched automatically, but did not awaken.

Skry very much liked that she was no longer bothering him and kept up his brisk pace in the cold night air. It was a very pleasant relief when the light no longer hurt his eyes or burned his skin and he took that moment to enjoy it. The darkness was no longer eerily comfortable. There were no more unnatural urges in his mind, to hide himself away in the shadows. He was himself.

It was invigorating, and despite his anger, he continued to walk without aim, without purpose. Wherever his feet took him, so long as he didn't have to think about _her._

Hatred. Vile, pure, and black it writhed in his head distorting all other thoughts. Skry couldn't remember a time when he had felt such sickening hatred for anyone. And despite her efforts to obscure herself he knew she was still there. Supporting him, keeping him alive with every fibre of her putrid being. He didn't want to need her but he did, and it sickened him.

As soon as it was possible, he was going to tear that vile creature out of his body and starve it of darkness until it withered and died. For a moment he wished she could still hear his thoughts, just so she could know what he planned for her. He sneered.

Without realizing it, Skry had ended up at the hospital across town, where the incompetent receptionist had directed him earlier. Deciding that the convenience merited it a look, he stepped inside.

It was a passing doctor who caught sight of the Klexian first, and with an air of professionalism about him approached the alien.

"Anything you're looking for, sir?" he asked, curious as to Skry's reasoning for coming here. The hospital had been especially busy the last few days, ever since their best surgeoun had left for a seminar in another solar system. The doctor eyed the Klexian for a few seconds, seemingly intrigued to see him.

"If I may…" he asked, his tone curious. "Are you… A Klexian?"

Skry looked to the alien who had questioned him. Wirey and small, with dark skin and a head topped with short, black fur. A human. Skry's scowled lessened and his mind returned to a far calmer state at the first sign of someone trying to help him. In truth, he appreciated it. He simply nodded in agreement. "I am. Why?"

"Doctor Vixel just left for another planet," the doctor explained politely. "I haven't met her, as I just transferred in myself, but I do know she's an expert on Klexian biology and cybernetics. If you had been here a day earlier, you would have caught her."

The human dug in the pocket of his lab coat, producing an old, worn pamphlet, and handed it to Skry.

"I know how… Hard it is, for your species to find adequate medical care. That has directions to the planet and hospital she's currently stationed on. It's a short ride by hyperjump away. You might be able to catch her there before she leaves for an even further planet. She's quite the busy one."

"Thank you," Skry responded. He gave a curt bow of the head and left. He looked the pamphlet over. It had the names of a few reputable surgeons and their whereabouts. Apparently their celebrity merited such advertisement. Snorting a bit in bemusement, he relished in the fact that he had found the person he was looking for.

Going off-world was not an experience he looked forward to. He had never felt the need to leave and the thought of it was a bit discomforting. Nevertheless he resolved himself to do it. Promptly he took only his regulator, secured on the outside of his suit. He was a low maintenance person. He made the necessary preparations to take a public transport to the planetary body known as Y'vaa.

The jump through hyperspace left Skry with a sour taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His twin hearts pumped fitfully. He didn't particularly like space travel, it always made him nervous and twitchy. It wasn't that he was afraid of the ship spontaneously exploding, or anything bad like that, he just honestly did not enjoy space travel.

So it came as a very welcome sigh of relief when the planet Y'vaa suddenly filled the portholes, and the swiftly moving stars suddenly stopped and became static against a backdrop of blackest black.

It was cold, the Klexian could tell from here. What little clouds there were swirled white above shelves of frozen water, and great seas lapped complacently at the edges of the almost permanently frozen continents. It was almost refreshing, seeing such a cold world. Nowhere near as cold as his lost homeworld was told to be, but still a nice change from the heat of the universe.

He smiled, his feathers ruffling, as the ship descended through the light atmosphere and down onto the cold surface of Y'vaa.

And all along, the Ing continued to sleep, oblivious to anything save her hectic dreams.

Skry made his way off the transport and onto the planet's surface. Instantly he relished in the cold around him. His exosuit didn't need to expend as much energy as it usually did. It was not cold enough that a Klexian could survive, but it was a comfort nonetheless. Other aliens walked about through the crowded metal city in coats and protective armor, trying to keep the freezing cold from touching their warm bodies. Skry felt almost sorry for them. For them, the planet's temperature was anything but comfortable.

Remembering the address of the hospital he was looking for, he set out into the city, trying, if futilely, to make sense of the maps inlaid throughout the streets. He was having a hard time navigating this strange place and it left him frustrated.

The main city was far too big for comfort. Due to the temperatures and the tendency of sentient races to lean towards the warm side of the spectrum, it was one of only three major super cities that dotted the planet. The only other outposts were small habitats created by the locals, way out in the freezing windswept plains of ice.

Skry was used to the small city he had called home for so very long. The largeness of this place was off putting and he found himself walking in what he hoped was the right direction, tracing a confused finger over the intricate pathways of the map. He asked a few passing people for directions but he was always met with blank stares and a shrug.

The general populous seemed not to even notice her existence. Maybe it was only the medical community, and the scant few interested passerby, who knew. Let alone cared.

Distraught he stopped in the middle of the street and turned his attention up to the tall, tall buildings that towered above him. In the gray and white of the atmosphere, they were colourless, melting into the sky as though both the structures and the heavens were the same thing. Skry felt very, very lost, and the largeness of everything wasn't helping.

Someone bumped into him and he stumbled, tearing his gaze away from the sky.

"Sorry!" exclaimed the newcomer.

"Watch where you're going..." Skry mumbled, inaudibly, brushing himself down. He met the alien's gaze and spoke more clearly. "It's alright." The alien looked at him quizzically.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, her voice musical. Her six eyes sparkled in a benevolent smile, her expressionless face unable to pull such intricate emotions.

"No… No I'm not," he agreed, finally turning his attention to the tall, insectoid alien who stood before him. "Is it that obvious?"

"Judging by the way you're staring at the buildings, then yes. It is obvious. What are you here for?"

"Looking for…" Tiredly, he flipped open the pamphlet and scanned through, looking for her name. "Doctor… Doctor Vixel. Do you know of her?"

Skry half expected her to shrug and turn away, as all the others had. But that was not the case. Instead she turned and scanned the buildings, the streets, pointing with a long double jointed arm over to a dark building, much shorter than the others.

"Doctor Vixel is an expert in Klexian biology," the alien sang. "You'll find her in the hospital over there, on the third floor. She's holding a special seminar and will only be here for the next day or so. Good luck."

Skry felt a sudden surge of relief and laughed out loud. Finally the whole nightmare would end and he would be rid of the possessive monstrosity that was the only thing keeping him alive. He nodded his thanks towards the tall alien and set off towards the short, dark building.

It was all going to end, at long last. He would be free. She would be dead, he did not care anymore. And he could go home. And be normal once more.

Cyra Vixel was a woman of idealism and dedication. One of the few to devote any portion of her research to a near-extinct race; the Klexians. Though it merited little benefit in her field she felt it important to learn nonetheless, almost like studying a dead language for its relic value. She had come to Y'vaa's reputable hospital to give a lecture on her research to fellow scientists. Her research concerned exosuit technology, how the Klexian design could be adapted to other species, and different, compact methods of powering the suit. It attracted moderate interest, though she believed it deserved more recognition than it had.

Skry was unable to catch the lecture, arriving late and instead being locked outside. He growled and protested, considering for a moment starting a brawl with the usher, but in the end decided against it.

Instead he waited, arms folded, leaning against the wall, ignoring the obstinate usher who tried to strike up a conversation now and again. Finally when it was over, a small crowd exited the room. He didn't even know what Dr. Vixel looked like and for a moment he assumed he had merely lost her in the crowd. But she was the last to exit, and he knew who she was as soon as he saw her.

Now he realized it. The familiar sound of what he had thought was an alien name, the queer interest the surgeon had in Klexian biology. It all made sense now. Cyra Vixel was a Klexian.

Throughout everything Skasheel remained steadfastly asleep, her dreams her only companions. In her mind she felt shame and regret and hatred towards herself, and she held onto them tightly, because what else could they be than true?

Cyra Vixel was, for lack of a better term, completely and utterly surprised. Not only had she never seen another Klexian in far too long for her to remember, but here one was standing before her, and he didn't seem to have an internal regulator. By all accounts he should have been dead, his body overcome by the unbearable heat of the universe.

She was shocked, surprised, intrigued, and a million other emotions all at once. She dropped her professional façade to the cavalcade of emotions that had grabbed her mind.

"You're a…" she stuttered, shaking her head as though seeing a walking illusion. "You're Klexian! But how are you…"

Without waiting for his permission she promptly kneeled down and inspected the jagged, corrupted black hole where his temperature regulator had used to reside. _Fascinating_, she thought, her eyes wide. Gently she caressed his abdomen, oblivious to the show of confused discomfort Skry was showing.

"You should be dead," she whispered, her tone almost reverent. "By all means, you should be dead."

Skry laughed shakily. "Yeah, I get that a lot." He was utterly shocked to meet another Klexian and for a moment he wondered if it was another sick mind trick. But no, the parasite was no longer in his head, and the fela was as real as he was. It was almost too much for him to handle considering the previous ruse that had been played on him, and he was decisively nervous.

What made it worse was the fela's obvious lack of concern for his personal space. It made him viciously uncomfortable and yet he found himself blushing and embarrassed. She hadn't even left time for introductions. "Uh, could you ..uh stop that, please?" He backed away jerkily and shook his head. "My name is Skry. Skry Hark."

Surprised she straightened. All the time she spent with her work left little time for social interaction, and Cyra found it awkward in situations like this. He was blushing dark violet and she felt a cold spread across her beak as well. Suddenly very self-conscious she turned her face down and giggled. How bad she must have looked, to him. She hadn't taken very good care of her appearance lately, for in her line of work such things didn't matter. Now she was beginning to regret that mistake.

"I'm Cyra. Cyra Vixel," she responded quietly. "I'm a, um. Surgeoun. I really didn't expect to ever see another of our kind, especially one like you…"

She glanced down at his missing regulator, captivated. How he was still walking and speaking to her was mind blowing and she was having a hard time combatting the sudden influx of confused emotions and her usual scientific mindset. She wanted so dearly to find out why he was still alive. Maybe if she found out, it would mean a new hope for her entire race.

The thought made her giddy with excitement and she blushed even harder.

"How can I help you?" she asked quietly, having a hard time controlling herself. She wanted to laugh and cry and jump for joy all at the same time. Instead she stood quietly and composed herself. There was no use scaring the poor guy off, she decided. Not yet, anyway.

"Nice to meet you, then, Cyra," he responded. "And I was... uh, wondering if you could... well," Skry was finding it hard to get the words out, whether it was because he was nervous or because the nature of his question was so strange. "Fix me," he finally blurted out. "My regulator's been removed and I haven't a clue how to fix it."

She grabbed him by the hand and began to lead him to the back of the hospital, determined to help him.

"I'll only be here for another day," she explained, her tone hurried, as though she wanted to tell him everything ever but didn't have enough time. "All my best equipment is out back, in my ship. There wasn't enough time to unpack it all if I was just going to pack it up again, right? So I left it out there."

They emerged from a back door out into a private landing strip lined with various spaceships, all different, all unique. She led him resolutely to a rather small, dark gray ship, sitting all by its lonesome closest to the hospital. A cold gust of wind blew, stirring up the snow that had gathered on the cold, cold concrete, and Cyra found herself shivering in excitement.

They both entered the ship and the door closed behind them with a resounding clang, where she proceeded to take them to a small, sterile, clean room. She set him down on an operating table and pulled up a stool, taking a seat in front of him.

She stared, for a moment. She had never seen a male of her species before. He had wings and feathers and bright, bright colours and it astounded her, that he was so vibrant. Cyra knew _of_ her species males but she had never _seen_one before, and a million questions raced through her mind. But she ignored them, and asked the one that burned the most.

"How are you alive?"

"Long story," he laughed. He sat with his back arched, hands between his legs, looking at the floor as if to avoid her gaze. "There's this... fuck, I don't even know what it's called. It's some sort of alien bug that got inside my suit. Nasty little fucker," he sneered, his eyes cringing as he described it. "But it's apparently a powerful, malleable energy source too, and took the place of my regulator when it got removed. Gross, honestly, and I want my regulator back."

Cyra leaned forwards and gave the strange Klexian a good hard look, seeing the strange black corruption around his abdomen in a new and disturbing light.

"Can you tell me what it looks like?" she asked quietly. "Where did you find it? Did it… Did it look like someone else, before it intruded upon you?"

She had a vague inkling she knew what had happened, but she wanted to hear it from Skry's mouth before she made any wild assumptions.

Skry gave Cyra a quizzical expression. It seemed she knew more about his situation than she was letting on and it intrigued him. So he told her all he knew.

"What it looks like? Don't really know," he admitted. "But before it infested me it was in a pirate. Jumped into my body and just stayed there," he paused, thinking. "Do you know anything about what it is?"

The surgeoun let out a nervous little laugh.

"Not… Exactly," she admitted. "But I found one earlier, myself. It was living in the body of one of my patients. When he died on the operating table, a black _thing_ came out, and if it weren't for the quick actions of my team, it would have stolen one of _us_."

Silence between the two.

"Would you like to see it?" she asked suddenly, a wry grin on her face. "I managed to construct a holding cell for it. For some reason they seem to really hate the light… But in the cell, it doesn't bother them as much."

The fact that there were more of these things made Skry flinch slightly in disgust.

"Guess I'm not the only victim, huh," he said. Honestly he wasn't too keen to see her specimen. He'd had enough experience with these dark little monsters and he really didn't care to see another. Not wanting to offend Cyra, however, he nodded. She led him to a small section of the ship used for biocontaiment, and carefully she proceeded to show him her prisoner.

This part of the ship was gloomy, the lights kept to a gentle dim so as not to aggravate its dark passengers. Skry squinted in the gloom, his eyes falling on three large containment pods inset into the far wall. There were thick black blinders between them, so the occupants could see nothing other than what was directly in front.

"It was angry," he heard Cyra explain, a hint of sadness in her voice. "We don't know why. Maybe they're all angry. But they can't live here, in the light. It kills them. So I kept it here. They're so intelligent… But so vicious."

She approached the closest pod and laid a hand on the thick, heavy glass. The being within turned

o look at them, its cluster of glowing eyes eerie in the pitch black of the cell.

"I have no idea where they come from or what they want, but I think they may be the last of their kind."

In the tube the confined Ing stared back angrily, one of its razor sharp claws tapping on the floor in what could only be described as a bored motion. If it weren't for the glass separating them, it would have killed them all and stolen the body of its captor as its prize. Instead it was kept as nothing more than a specimen. And it only made it angrier.

"Damn, they get big," Skry said. Seeing the thing was a bit unnerving, he had to admit, but seeing it held captive gave him a certain, taunting pleasure. "How the hell did she even fit inside me..." he wondered. Seeing how massive and powerful the creature actually was made it easier to imagine how the energy being was able to power his suit.

"That's cool and all," Skry continued, impatient. "So do you think you could add mine to your collection?" he said, tapping the black hole where his regulator had once been.

The female Klexian stared, momentarily surprised. She was a compassionate being, and even in the face of so monstrous a creature as the captured Ing she felt pity for it. She had, for a moment, forgotten about Skry's presence and found herself blushing again. Klexian males showed their virility by their resplendent feathers and wings, and having never seen one before now, she found him very handsome, indeed.

It was an odd feeling, an annoying feeling, and she pushed it to the back of her head. The thought of fixing him and adding another specimen to her small collection at the same time was too much to resist, and with a smile she led him back to another room.

"I can try," she replied. Honestly she had never performed such a procedure. The operating room she had led him to had an airlock that kept it cool and isolated. "A Klexian med bay," she said. "I didn't ever think I'd ever get to use it." The room was kept at a freezing temperature just slightly above the liquifying point of methane, and the air inside was of the modified chemistry of their lost homeworld. In here Skry would be able to live without a regulator, without an exosuit at all. An obvious need since for a few minutes he would be without one.

"Lie down," she instructed, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. She took the regulator from him and set it down beside her tools, and took a moment to compose herself. This was no place for any emotion other than determination, so she wiped the hormone driven thoughts from her mind and got herself ready.

"It shouldn't take too long," she explained, readying a canister full of airborne anesthetic. "But I'll have to put you out for the duration of it. Are you alright with that?"

She held the respirator mask up and awaited his answer.

"Actually no, I'm not. I can endure. Sure I can't be awake?" Skry asked. He was sick of being knocked out. By Vhaso, by the parasite. Being put asleep was being subdued and no matter who did it to him it made him feel humiliated. "Besides, I want to see it..." he sneered, remembering the trauma the thing had caused him and how desperately he wanted to see her die. He didn't want to be asleep for that.

Skasheel's formless dreams were interrupted by bright, screaming pain. There was light, and it burned every iota of her being. In her pain she struggled, seeing the world with half a mind. She struggled and cried out but just as quickly found herself contained in something far too small. She reverted to a gaseous state, catching sight of Skry and another Klexian in the process.

_Help me,_ she tried to yell, but she could not form words without a host_. I am dying_.

In her container, she saw Skry. He was wide awake, his face in a grimace of pain from the surgery. He had finally done it, she realized. He found another of his kind, and she was helping him. His regulator was back in place and he didn't need her anymore. And he looked very satisfied to see her gone. She was no longer with him, but she could feel his scathing hatred even from this distance, inside her thick glass container.

A moment later she was whisked away, to a place where the light didn't hurt as much, and before she could understand what was happening there was a tumble and a fall and suddenly, nothing hurt anymore. Tentatively she changed her form, turning from gas into liquid. She huddled against a wall, terrified, fully expecting a new onslaught of pain at any moment.

But no more pain came. She was deathly afraid. No pain? But she didn't have a host. Was she in the dark dimension? Was she home, again? The thought, for a moment, invigorated her, and for the first time in far, far too long, she allowed herself to retain her natural form.

The hope was quickly shattered. She wasn't home, she was in a holding cell, watching the world through thick, thick glass. Dismayed she put a claw up to the glass, but it was far too strong to break out of. And why would she want to? The atmosphere would surely kill her, despite the low, low lighting.

She curled up into a ball and tucked her legs underneath her. She had finally attained her natural form and she was in no danger of dying anytime soon. But at the price of her freedom.

_Good_, she thought sadly. _I deserve no less._

Skry's face twisted in pain as Cyra worked fast and precisely, realigning every circuit, wire, and vein. It took all his composure to keep from screaming. But finally it was done. He was back to normal. The despicable thing that had resided in him was finally purged and he could live his life again.

Cyra led him out of the frigid, comfortable room and back into the biocontainment lab. Once out, Skry found he could breath, he could feel his exosuit pulsing and sustaining him once again, with no symbiotic help. He smiled. He watched as Cyra placed the parasite into a dark holding cell. It liquified, spewing around in its tiny new home before coalescing into a five-legged beast like the one beside it.

"So that's what you look like, huh," he said quietly, even though he doubted she could hear him. "You're even more disgusting to look at," he finished with a quick smirk. He approached the cell and looked in, observing. He gave her a cold, cold look with his fierce green eyes. An expression that was a mix of hatred, disgust, and plain indifference. Here she would be held for the rest of her life, imprisoned and helpless. Good, he decided. Death was a way out. Lifelong imprisonment would give the parasite a lifetime to wallow in her pitiful existence.

Turning from the tube after a long stare he looked to Cyra, smiling. "Thank you," he bowed his head.

She heard every word he said and turned away, wholly ashamed of everything she had ever done. As far as she was concerned she had moved on to her own private hell and death wasn't an absolute, it was a privilege that she wouldn't attain for a long, long time.

But in the cell next to her, the other Ing had gone from simmering anger to absolute rage. He saw with his fiery eyes the newcomer to his neighbouring cell and it filled him with burning indignation. To finally see another of his kind, only to have her locked up in much the same way he had been: it seemed a travesty that his entire race had been reduced to something so abysmally pathetic.

Angry, he lashed out at the glass wall, but it held fast, having been built to survive such abuse. He attacked and pounded and hit at the glass but only succeeded in leaving shallow scratch marks along its otherwise perfect surface.

This would not do, he decided angrily. That female Klexian had gone too far and he was determined to escape, even while the Ing next to him seemed to have already given up.

He scratched around at the perimeter, where the glass met the steel, until he found the smallest of cracks, and resolute, began to pick at it furiously.

It was all over. Finally, he was free, and at last he had found another Klexian. Briefly Skry wondered if he ever would have ever found Cyra if it weren't for Skasheel, but thinking he had _anything_to be grateful for from that creature was vomit-inducing.

So, putting it all behind him, he put his back to the creatures for good and locked his eyes with Cyra's.

"So..." he started, thinking. "This isn't the part where doctor and patient part ways, is it? That would be a shame."

She blushed and looked away quickly, feeling that surge of unfamiliar emotion again. It wasn't professional to do what she wanted to do with him. He was a patient, she the doctor. They had to part ways, it was what they did. But he was also another Klexian, and she had been alone for a very long time.

"Mr. Hark," she started, her tone mocking severity. "I do believe that after all is said and done, the patient is supposed to leave. You don't want to keep me from my… Work. Would you?"

"Oh, I'd never keep you from your work," Skry replied. "But, maybe you could find a job for me, and we could work together. I'm no doctor but I'm sure you can find something I can do," he said smoothly, his wings vibrating subtly in a show of colour.

Cyra Vixel found herself giggling uncontrollably, distracted by the colourful buzz of his wings and the deep green of his eyes.

"I suppose I _do_have a job for you," she purred, taking him gently by the hand and pulling him from the darkened room and the Ing who continued to pick obstinately at his cell. She led him to a rather modest couch and sat, staring at him nervously. Timidly she patted the seat beside him, urging him to sit, too.

He sat down beside her, but turned away, remembering all too painfully the artifice the parasite had cast that bore so much resemblance to the scene. But Cyra was real, and she had helped him. She was a Klexian just like him and looked so different from what he had always imagined felas to look like. She was far more beautiful. From the slender shape of her waist to her smooth, wingless back and soft facial features. He felt that his life was all that much better for just having seen one, and, relishing in the moment, he was withdrawn, patient. Much in contrast to his usual attitude. He wasn't going to let the starvation for his own species impair his judgement.

He wanted to know her, where she came from, about her life and her research. So he inquired, and a conversation ensued wherein he learned everything about her. She was remarkable, intelligent, devoted to her work that aimed to help so many people, and Skry felt embarrassed about his own life. He admitted to her his work as a mercenary, killing war criminals, instigating coups. He wasn't proud of being a government-hired killer but Cyra didn't seem to judge him. Life was hard and he did whatever he could to make a living, even if it wasn't as glamorous as hers.

There was nothing more than a soft cuddle. There was no kissing, neither was there anything else. They just sat, together, glad for the other's company in ways that only they could understand. And in the bliss of the moment, enjoying each other's body cold, Cyra realized she couldn't prolong this as she wanted to.

With a sigh she pulled away from Skry.

"I have to go," she said quietly. "I didn't expect any of this to happen. I have to be on a completely different planet in only a few hours. I'm sorry…"

She stood, hesitantly. He was so perfect. Everything about him made her shy blush that much deeper and she hated that she had to go.

"But maybe… When I'm back home. When I'm back on Saigen, we can see each other again."

She smiled warmly, feeling much closer to Skry already than most of the people she had met in the entirety of her life, and turned away without another word. It wasn't that she was giving him the cold shoulder. It was that she had much work yet to do, before she left. And she had already wasted more time than she would have liked to admit simply by being with Skry.

_No_, she reminded herself. _Not time wasted. Time spent well_. As Skry left, she set to busying herself about her ship, cleaning up here and there. Getting everything ready for her departure. And trying to ignore the empty hole that had already appeared in her heart simply by his leaving.

For the first time Skry could remember, he was really and truly happy. Cyra was the first woman he had ever truly felt this way for. His feelings for her transcended everything physical and hers was the first relationship that seemed to fill that lonely void in his life. He didn't know when he would see her again, but just having met her gave him enough happiness to avoid every opportunity for a drink that night.

Skry must have looked pretty strange, he realized, walking stark and carefree through the streets full of aliens in warm, heavy clothing with an inexplicable smile on his he missed her, but it didn't matter. He would see her again. That much they were both sure of. And for Cyra, he was willing to be patient. For as long as it took.

The hours passed quickly, without notice. She had run back and forth, from the hospital to her ship, packing all her equipment and readying herself for the long trip ahead, to the next planet. She was determined to spread her knowledge as much as she could, before her eventual return to Saigen, where she would sit back and relax. And be with Skry.

But everything seemed to be in order, and with a triumphant nod she turned her attention to the biocontainment room and the two specimens held within. Earlier in the day, after Skry had left, she had separated the two Ing, so that they were in different rooms. It freed up more space for her equipment; space that she sorely needed. But she was curious as to her newest specimen's well-being, the one who had resided inside Skry. Something about that one in particular intrigued her and she came to a stop in front of its cell. The space where the other tubes used to be were disturbingly empty, full now with medial equipment, but she paid them no heed.

She peered within, at the dark creature that lay still on the no doubt cold floor. There was no aggression. No anger. Just emotionless cold sorrow. The Klexian put her hand to the glass and peered closer.

"Why aren't you angry?" she asked quietly. The Ing stirred slightly but paid her little heed. "You seem so sad. What happened? What did you do?"

There was no response, of course. The creatures were incapable of spoken words, needing a vessel to communicate. Cyra frowned and pulled back, sighed once. So much studying she would have to do, in order to learn. She turned and left the room, to the next room over and the angrier of the two that it held. She wanted to check up on him, too. Before she left. While the previous Ing seemed to pose no threat, the aggression of the other was worrying at best.

She peered into the glass and immediately her hearts sank. The cell was empty, devoid of the parasitic lifeform within. Hearts suddenly racing she straightened up, catching sight of a hole in the side of the glass, where the glass met with the steel frame. She started back and looked around frantically, and the other Ing, having noticed her panicked state, took notice.

"Where did it go?" she whispered, short of breath. Something in the furthest, blackest corner hissed and terrified she turned her full attention towards it. A living shadow, a piece of blackest night, staring back at her with eyes of flame.

Cyra screamed and ran out, closing shut the door behind her. She made a beeline straight for her intercom and hastily made a call for Skry, flinching at the loud shrieks of rage from the adjoining containment bay. The call went through. She wasted no time.

"Skry get back here quick," she yelled, close to tears. Another crash from the room, another savage roar. "There's been a breach. It's-"

The door broke open and in her panic all she could do was scream as the dimensional parasite with its razor claws descended upon her.

"Cyra?" Skry called, screaming futilely at the hologram on his wrist. The communication cut out, and the last thing he heard was Cyra's beautiful voice twisted into a terrified scream. "Fuck!" Quickly he realized the parasite must have escaped and gone after her. Possessed her...

"No, no. NO!" he screamed. Anger boiling in his mind. Fear. He was furious at the parasite for laying its putrid claws on Cyra, and he was furious at himself for leaving her there, trusting that the creatures could not escape. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, hearts racing as they pulsed with terror and fear. He had to find his way back, he had to save her from suffering the same way he had.

Cyra screamed in pain at the horrific feeling of her own body twisting against her. The Ing had made sure to make the possession as brutally painful as he possibly could; his sadistic mind reveling in the torture he was finally able to bestow upon his infuriating captor.

He had brief contact with her pitiful mind, and stamped it out of existence. He had no need for such trivial, useless emotions, and it gave him great pleasure to hear her screams suddenly cut short. But she was still alive, in there, and while she had no control to speak of, he also made sure she could feel everything he did. Feel as he took her skin and broke through it, replacing it with hardened spines and shiny black carapace. As he made her stand, shakily, her tail whipping the floor like a live wire.

And forced her to watch Skry come running in as fast as he could, his eyes blazing green anger. She protested but he only grinned, and spoke broken words through her twisted mouth.

"How do you like your precious female now?" he hissed. "I made her beautiful, just for you."

The laugh he produced was chilling at best, and it filled the ship with its dark resonance.

Skry's face turned into one of utter shock and horror, before twisting to one of hatred. The voice that resonated from Cyra's corrupted throat was deeper, hoarser than Skasheel's, and so he realized the creature that had infected her was not the same as his.

Her flawless, cyan suit had been putrified, black as pitch. Sharp, violet spines drove from her back and tail. And her beautiful features had turned sharp and menacing. She was nearly unrecognizable, and Skry tried to control his anger from getting the best of him and driving him to slash the monster's throat right then and there. But that would kill her, as well, and probably ultimately culminate in him being possessed once again. He remembered the pirate, and how the only way out for him had been death. Would he be forced to make the choice between Cyra's freedom and his own? The thought of extinguishing her distraught him. Skry had no idea what to do and merely stood there, indecisive and in in terror.

"How dare you touch her..." he sneered, anger boiling. "You vile demon. I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Oh, but how would you really? After all your helpless fela is trapped inside and as long as she's breathing, so will I," he laughed, warping her voice into his own to create a horrid, dual-tone noise, like a mix of music and poison.

Angry as he was, Skry knew the words were true. And in honesty he could not bring himself to hurt her, mutated though she was. The creature did not wait for an answer, and launched itself at him. Skry was forced to defend himself, watching with dismay as the face he had loved now writhed with mutatious anger and sought to kill him. The Ing clawed at him, trying to tear through his throat. Skry met each blow, knocking it away and refusing to take any offensive measure himself. To always be on the defensive was a losing battle. Slowly but surely, he was becoming exhausted, yet the Ing still had plenty of energy to spare. He landed a few, vicious strikes across Skry's chest, puncturing the exosuit just slightly and letting in pinpricks of molten air. They were enough to burn the flesh beneath, but the durable armor held.

"Tired already? How sad for you," it cackled, rearing up another strike.

Skry breathed rapidly, out of breath, frosty air billowing from his lungs in his exhaustion. The creature lunged at him, throwing him to the ground. It shrieked and hissed its bloodlust and tore at Skry's throat. He held Cyra's arms back and struggled to push the thing off him. In a final expenditure of precious energy he kicked her square in the abdomen, sending the Ing-possessed Klexian across the ship. The move only exhausted Skry further and he used the last of his waning energy to flee, into the biocontainment lab, securing the door and locking it behind him.

He leaned against the closed door and panted, fatigued. Almost immediately he felt a pounding from the other side as the creature fought to get in and finish what it had started. His body thumped up and down with each attempt and Skry could feel dents being formed in the armored door. He didn't have much time, and he was trapped.

Suddenly hopeless, he closed his eyes and whimpered pitifully, shaking his head as he struggled to think of something to do. He heard a low, scritching squeal come from the one remaining containment pod and he looked up. Skasheel looked at him with her amorphic, emotionless eye, and for all the hatred he felt for her, he knew there was only one possible way he could save Cyra. Desperate and resolute, he approached the containment pod and looked at her. He paused for a moment, clearly reluctant, but he knew he was out of options. The symbiosis would grant him new strength and energy which he so desperately needed.

"I need your help," was all he said. He clicked in the code on the keypad nearby and watched as the walls of her cell rose up and away, leaving her free.

Just as he was reluctant, so too was she, the memories of the things she had done having seared themselves like vibrant scars into her brain. But she could hear the sounds of the other Klexian from outside, and right away knew what had happened. The other Ing, that she hadn't even noticed, had taken for itself a host.

Time was fleeting at best and with a sad skree she changed her chemical makeup, reverting from a solid to a gas and descending on Skry in the space of a second.

Skasheel was not like _him_, the one who banged so mercilessly on the door, who took the precious minds of his hosts and twisted them into monsters. She knew that now. Spending time with Skry and her pirate friend had taught her that life was precious and not something to manipulate. So when she possessed Skry, willingly, she did it as painlessly as she possibly could, his well-being very important to her.

There was pain, of course. How could there not be? She invaded his entire being like the parasite she was and that in itself was a painful process. She made hesitant contact with his mind as she augmented his limbs, turning fingers into claws and wings into razors. He was angry. She did not blame him. But his anger at the other Ing was far, far greater and she took hold of that. It would benefit them both greatly, because they both agreed on that anger.

If Cyra was in pain, if she was hurt, Skry would never recover. And if Skasheel could somehow stop that, then maybe she'd feel a little happier.

The door could not withstand any more punishment and slammed open on broken hinges. The Ing came through, his face warped into rage, but when he saw Skasheel he instantly softened, looked, for a moment, friendly.

"You've taken him, I see," the Ing purred, smiling wide. He pulled a curt bow and offered his stolen hand. "Come with me. We're free."

All Skasheel did was snarl.

"Let her go."

The Ing was rightfully surprised and his smile vanished in place of a curious frown.

"Why?"

"Because she means the world to me," Skry interjected, and with him and Skasheel talking as one continued, "If you hurt her, you will die."

The Ing straightened and cast his burning glance around, very confused.

"You would side with the pitiful scum of the light?"

"Yes."

No more words were spoken. Sides had been claimed. The Ing, with his twisted mutated body, attacked, and Skry, with his lithe, darkened form, easily dodged. His senses had heightened dramatically, his reflexes now more automatic than anything. He easily dodged Cyra's blackened claws, and in turn, the bitter Ing easily ducked under a violent kick. They were matched in terms of strength and cunning, and one could not outdo the other. So they continued to fight, both sides driven purely by anger.

Neither Skry nor Skasheel were in control: they _both_were. They both had the same goal, the same outcome in mind. To save Cyra. But mindless fighting wasn't getting them anywhere. Skasheel and Skry fought with the intent to save, while the Ing drove on relentlessly with the intent to kill.

Just as before, it was a losing battle. And Skasheel didn't know what to do.

Despite the fact that he had evened the odds, Skry still had no idea how to purge Cyra of the Ing. It seemed the only way they could be taken from their host was by their will, and he knew there was no way in hell the parasite would go willingly. Desperate for answers, still relentlessly fighting the other infested monster, he spoke to Skasheel in his head.

"You're like him, isn't there any way to get him out?" he begged her. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"I don't know I-"

The idea hit her without warning and she gasped. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Dual possession was something generally frowned upon by the Ing Horde. While possible, it was usually only enacted by Ing jealous of another's host, wanting to taste it for themselves. It was something she had never done before, but it was the only thing that would work. If she could drive the hostile Ing outside, the floodlights would vapourize him instantly. She didn't stop to think that it would also vapourize her.

"Get him against a wall," Skasheel ordered, and Skry obeyed without question, fighting the bloodthirsty creature with all he had, wincing when he accidentally drew blood on the twisted female Klexian. The Ing roared through his stolen bear trap mouth and fought back with all he had, swishing his claws through the air with seemingly no care as to where they landed.

With a surge of strength, Skasheel helped. She buffed his muscles, darkening Skry's entire countenance in the process, and they both pushed back as one. Their anger had given way to a fierce determination, and every forward push only made them stronger. With a final lash and a rush of raw strength their claws made contact with Cyra's blackened throat and they heaved her into the air. Her back crashed against the wall and her tail lashed angrily.

"So you've caught me," the Ing laughed in his double voice. "What are you going to do now, slit her throat? Then what? I'll just take over you. You can't kill me."

"Shut up!" Skry yelled, his claws tightening around her throat. For a moment her angry countenance fell, and like a sadistic puppet master, the Ing let her speak of her own free will.

"Skry," she sobbed. Cold tears leaked from the corners of her burning eyes. "Help me, please."

"You monster," Skry sobbed, conflicted in a million different ways. The Ing laughed and reclaimed his prize.

"You're so pathetic, both of you. I hope you both _burn_."

Skasheel pushed their face close to his and spat in his eye.

"Go fuck yourself. The only monster here is you."

With the Ing possessed Cyra held firmly against the wall, Skasheel depossessed Skry and took hold of the Klexian, returning to Skry his freedom. He held tight, not about to let the Ing go just yet, and watched with narrowed eyes as Skasheel disappeared inside the only person to give him happiness.

Almost instantly Skasheel was overcome with a seething torrent of pure anger. He was angry, this Ing. He had seen the destruction of his home as well, but where Skasheel felt sorrow, it had only served to fuel his hatred. He snapped at her, wrapping his hatred around her mind, hoping to push her free. She responded with her own anger, and in his overconfidence took control of Cyra's limbs before he could react.

"_Get out_," the dark creature bellowed, deigning to speak to her through their minds, instead filling the ship with pure loathing.

"Take us outside," Skasheel whispered, and Skry did not object. Cyra's entire body was wracked by spastic shivers as the two beings of pure darkness fought vehemently for control. One moment the sharp spines on her back withered and faded away and the next her hands erupted into massive claws of flesh and bone. When she cried out in pain it was with her own voice, and Skry thought he would die. Her pain alone was almost too much for him to handle but diligently he managed to get her outside.

Then he understood. The shipyard was illuminated brightly with huge floodlights, designed to keep would be thieves away. He led her out to the center of the light and held her close, looking up. Even without the symbiote in his veins it was still blinding, and he cringed. Her shudders died down but the smallest iota, and he cried.

Inside, Skasheel was pushing with all her might. It was a mental game as much as it was a physical one. Slowly she would gain the upper hand, only to be pushed down and thrown away, his anger much too strong. For a moment she doubted she could beat him. He was far, far stronger than her. He must have been exceptionally strong on the battlefield, and that frightened her.

A soft, lilting voice touched her mind, and hesitantly, she touched back, afraid of what she would find. She found… Resolve. It was weak. Much weaker than her own, but it was heartfelt, and with Cyra's help she took hold of it. And together, they pressed back against the relentless onslaught of anger.

A moment later, he broke free, billowing from her body like black velvet. The malignance his presence exuded was sickening, like a miasma of sticking oil tar, and Skry gagged from the sheer power of it. Without a voice, he screamed, the light burning into his essence. There was a sound of tearing paper, a smell like burnt almonds and lightning, and the darkness burnt away.

Cyra fell to her knees. She fell to her knees and started crying and all Skry could do was hold her.

She sobbed into his shoulder, her own will the only thing driving her. Skasheel had won, and no sooner had she done so that she retreated, allowing the Klexian full command of her body and mind. She healed her wounds and strived to repair the damage the other Ing had done to her. Of course she could do nothing to cure the trauma and terror she felt.

In the back of her mind Skasheel realized she had what she wanted. She had the body of a female Klexian, and she in turn had gained Skry's affection. It was like a dream come true, and even now she could feel her host's body embraced by the creature of the light she herself had come to love. But despite the temptation she knew it was wrong. She knew that no matter how desperately she longed for it, she could not stay.

Skry knew it too, and as Cyra's sobbing finally subsided she looked at him, eyes ablaze with that hideous, symbiotic orange. He looked at her piteously, conflicted. After all the symbiote had done to help him, to save Cyra, how could he ask her to leave. Where would she go?

"…She's done bad things, Skry," Cyra said quietly, listening to the Ing speak to her inside her own mind. "She doesn't want to die…"

"But I have to."

Skasheel had finished the sentence somberly and took a moment to feel the well-being between them. The hatred had gone. In its place, almost hesitant friendship. She wanted to sit here and enjoy it forever, but not if it meant stealing the life of another.

"I've lived my life for long enough," she continued, unabated. "I think it's time I faced my fears and just… Left."

The finality of her own words were almost too much to bear, and while Cyra had stopped crying, the tears that now flowed from her eyes belonged only to the parasite. The Klexian willingly took the backseat in order to let the Ing find her closure.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, clutching ineffectually at Skry's armoured chest. "I really am. I didn't mean to do what I did to you I just…. I was _desperate_.

"And I've never felt love before; I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry, _I broke you_."

She wiped the tears from her stolen face and pulled away from Skry, looking up at him.

"I love you," was the last thing she said, before tenuously letting go of her vessel. The light burnt off the first bits of herself, of her dark being. She hissed but pressed on, exposing ever more of herself to the light. She cried, of course. She was ending it, finally. For a moment she desperately wanted to crawl back into Cyra and make the pain go away, but that would only delay the inevitable.

She depossessed Cyra and for a moment floated there, a ghostly flicker of living shadow. Before the night stole her away, and she forever became a part of the darkness. The last thing to go through her mind was how happy Skry looked with Cyra, and the last emotion she felt was happiness.

Skry watched as Skasheel faded away into nothingness. Despite all the resentment he had had, all the hatred and harsh feelings, even he felt a twinge of regret as he watched her die. He took no satisfaction in it, only sorrow, and for the first time he saw her for what she truly had been. Not a parasite, but a sentient being who had the misfortune of being born to the wrong species. No one had control over who they were, but because she was a victim of circumstance she had been forced to fight, to possess, to control, and finally forced to die.

Silence followed in her passing, and both Cyra and Skry merely bowed their heads in respect.

Skry was the first to stand, and offered Cyra his hand. The two walked away, back into the ship together, keeping a silent vigil in respect for all that had transpired.

She stared with forlorn eyes out the porthole at the passing stars and surpassed a sigh. Space was too black; the stars, too bright. The duality of it was making her head hurt and she had to turn away.

"Are you alright?" Skry asked, holding her close. The coldness of his body was comforting and she curled up against him, closing her eyes.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"…Everything."

Hours earlier she had been a surgeoun, off in her own little world. Her aim had been to spread her knowledge to others who would need it, and it was driven, in part, by her desire to meet another of her species. She had succeeded on that front, only to be tempered with new knowledge she was having a hard time coming to terms with.

It troubled her.

But Cyra Vixel tried not to let such thoughts worm their way too deeply into her mind, and instead set her mind to the future. Here she was with Skry. A wonderful, beautiful person who had done so much to see to her safety when he barely even knew her. Here she was with knowledge, of a parasitic life form from another dimension who had saved her life, at the expense of herself and, by proxy, her entire species.

Here she was with a future that actually meant something. Her experiences had become valuable tools to fall back on, and she wouldn't change any of it for the world. If Skasheel hadn't found Skry, then he wouldn't've found her, and she would have been possessed by the Ing or worse. She shuddered thinking of all the what ifs. As a doctor and a scientist, the reality of all the little things that could have gone differently frightened her.

"Everything," she repeated, this time with a smile. She had set her ship to autopilot, back to Saigen. The other planets could wait. Her work could wait. She was taking a well-earned vacation on her home, with Skry.

"I love you," was all she said. He kissed her on top of the head and smiled as well.

"I love you too."


End file.
